The Serpents' Society
by Amberdulen
Summary: Pre-OotP - Battling the Weasleys, sneaking out at night, mocking the Hufflepuffs, revealing mysteries of the castle ... all in a day's work for a secret group of Slytherins desperate to find out what's hidden on the restricted third-floor.
1. The Girl From Dorset

**[Author's Note:]**   
Since the whole book is based around the works of Ms. J.K. Rowling, if her lawyers wanted to do so they could swoop down and take this novel. Not, of course, that they would want to.   
This is a parallel novel of the first book (i.e. the 1991-92 school year). This DOES NOT change the story told in the The Sorcerer's Stone; the two works are NOT mutually exclusive. In fact, great pains were taken to make sure that nothing in my book contradicts anything Rowling says. (Thanks to Steve van der Ark; his Lexicon helped a lot.) This book is just a description of what else was going on while Harry was having his great adventures.   
One note on reviews. I'm not a review-fiend who demands voluminous gushing at every chapter (although I definitely won't turn it down. :-) I do ask, however, that you leave a review wherever you stop reading to let me know why. A simple "I hate OCs" or "This is boring" will do fine. Thanks for taking the time. 

*** 

**Chapter One: The Girl from Dorset**

On a muggy evening in late July, a brown eagle owl swooped into the kitchen window of the Parson house near Cerne Abbas, Dorset, Britain. It glided over a colander full of artichoke hearts and deposited a thick envelope on the counter; then, with a satisfied hoot, it sailed back out the window and disappeared into the hot twilight sky. 

Beth Parson wiped her hands on a dishtowel and ripped open the envelope. Out fell two pieces of parchment inscribed in thin green ink. The first one read:     

_Dear Miss Parson,   
        Please note that the new school year will begin on September the third. The Hogwarts   
         Express will leave from King's Cross Station, platform nine and three-quarters, at   
        eleven o'clock.   
        Third years are permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade on certain weekends.   
        Please give the enclosed permission form to your parent or guardian to sign.   
        A list of books for next year is enclosed.     

Yours sincerely,     

Professor M. McGonagall     

Deputy Headmistress

_

The book list was formidable. 

    _Intermediate Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch   
    _Unfogging the Future_ by Cassandra Vablatsky   
    _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 3)_ by Miranda Goshawk   
    _Billiwigs and Bundimuns: Controlling Magical Pests_ by Erasmus Tarantella   
    _A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot   
    _Beginning Arithmancy_ by Thaddeus Nease 

The girl with the letters was tall with shaggy blonde hair, and wasn't surprised to be getting a letter by owl because she'd been doing it for years. In fact, she had gotten the same kind of letter for the last two summers, since enrolling at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

As Beth refolded the letters, a tall, balding man slowly shuffled into the room. His eyes glinted, but his face hung wrinkled and slack. He was certainly past middle age. 

"We got an owl from Hogwarts, Dad," the girl told him, and laid them on the table as he pulled out a chair and sat wearily. "There's a permission slip for you to sign." 

"That time of year already," Mr. Parson smiled. "Time does fly." He carefully uncreased the parchments with slow hands and stuck his nose close to the writing, squinting a little and scratching the bare fringe of hair around his scalp. 

_For you, at least_, thought Beth. "I'm ready to get back. I only heard from Melissa two or three times, and Bruce never wrote me once." 

"September third," Mr. Parson read from the paper. "We'll need to get you to London. Seems you've outgrown your robes this year." He beamed up at her. "You're more grown-up every day." 

Beth flushed with dual pride and embarrassment. She couldn't think of anything to say about that, so instead she bustled at the counter, putting away the remnants of that night's dinner. "This would be so much easier if they let me do magic over the summer," she complained for the hundredth time that month. 

"You'll do just fine living like the rest of us," her father scoffed. William Parson was a nonmagical person, referred to in the wizarding world as a Muggle. Even though he could not perform magic himself, his wife had been a witch, so he was very used to receiving owl post and watching the dirty dishes clean themselves. 

"I guess so," said Beth. She hurried to put away the last of the dishes. "I'm going to go stargazing tonight -- if I can finish this report for Sinistra by the time school starts, I don't have to take Astronomy again." 

"Then you'd better get on it, young lady," her father said severely. "You need all the classes you can get. There's only one chance, you know." 

"I know." 

Beth went back into her bedroom to gather up her telescope. It was dozens of years old -- both of her older brothers and her mother before them had studied Astronomy with it, in their times. Now it was just Beth and her father, and the telescope had laid untouched for ten years. 

She set up the telescope in the front yard and surrounded it with all the necessary equipment: a star chart and quill pen, a stool to sit on, a mug of hot chocolate, and a thick cloak in case it got cold. The cloak was part of Beth's uniform from Hogwarts, and it bore the green insignia of a snake. 

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was divided into four "houses" where students lived and learned. There was Hufflepuff, full of hardworking students, Ravenclaw, which prized clever students, Gryffindor, which admired bravery above all, and Slytherin, where Beth and her friends Melissa Ollivander and Bruce Bletchley had been placed. The Slytherins were chosen as the most ambitious of all the students, and many had a reputation for being unscrupulous. When the evil wizard Lord Voldemort had risen to power, it was mostly power-hungry Slytherins who followed him -- and afterward, who suffered when he was defeated by a little baby named Harry Potter. 

Beth peered through the telescope and focused it on the moon. Flipping through her star charts until she found a blank page inscribed with a circle, she began laboriously entering and identifying the craters of the moon. It was a beautiful sight, magnified and luminescent, and Beth found it hard to concentrate on her work. Instead, her thoughts kept going to her friends, whom she hadn't seen in weeks. 

As predicted when she had been chosen to join the Slytherin house, Beth had made her best friends from her classmates -- and a good thing, since very few other students would even give a Slytherin the time of day. The stigma of having produced Lord Voldemort -- reputed to have killed or tortured scores of witches and wizards -- still hung over the Slytherin house, like a scarlet letter. 

"We're not evil," Beth said to herself, as she had done a hundred times before. Her star chart lay forgotten across her lap as she gazed up at the dark sky. "We're ambitious. Like Melissa -- she's desperate to be Head Girl, but she wouldn't cheat for it, she just studies up and takes command when she can, and gets to know all of the teachers." She shifted her attention to Venus, shimmering larger than any star. "And Bruce. Bruce wants to be Keeper in a professional Quidditch team, he's probably been practicing all summer." 

Beth remembered her research report and picked up her quill again. She put it back down. "And what about me? What do I want?" 

She answered herself with a little deprecatory laugh. "To not take Astronomy. Buck up, Parson." 

Turning her attention back to the stars, she was able to keep from saying what had gone through her head: She wanted her family back, but no amount of ambition could make it true. 


	2. Gringott's

**Chapter Two: Gringott's**

The next day, Beth got up early to pack a lunch and left on her bike shortly after dawn. The hills of Dorset were thick with rich, green summer foliage, and she found herself slowing down frequently to take a closer look at the scenery. She'd lived in England for the past three years, but she was still taken by the beauty of the countryside and the rich history that stretched for centuries more than her hometown in the United States. 

About an hour later, she braked to a halt in front of a small wooden cottage. Around the back was a large paddock where a large animal, part eagle and part equine, romped with two large horses and a griffon. As she approached the cottage, a tough-looking and very old woman stepped from the door and hurried forward to embrace her. 

"Bethy, how are you? It's been so long since we've seen you -- Newt was just saying the other day, 'I wonder what that Parson girl is up to' -- calling you the Parson girl, as if he's too old to remember your name. Come in!" She guided Beth up to the porch. The animals in the paddock stopped frolicking to watch curiously. 

"I'm great, Mrs. Scamander. It's good to see you!"' 

A series of bumping and scraping sounded from an upstairs room. "Who is it?" a cranky male voice demanded from inside. 

"Newt honey, it's Bethy," Mrs. Scamander called back patiently. "Down, Mauler," she said to the Kneazle pawing at Beth's leg. "Come in, dear. How's your father?" 

Beth followed Mrs. Scamander into a large kitchen which smelled strongly of spices. On a fireplace, a copper cauldron bubbled fiercely. Two more Kneazles lounged about the kitchen, looking unimpressed. 

"Dad's fine," Beth answered, sitting at the kitchen table. "He's forgetful these days, you know, but he gets around, and I always manage to find his keys again." 

"Poor man," Mrs. Scamander worried, tapping her wand on the table. Two big steins sprouted from the wood and grew handles. "He should have a wife to help him get about. Shame ..." She pursed her lips as if she wanted to say more. Another tap of the wand, and the mugs filled with steaming tea. "Sugar?" 

Beth nodded. A sugar bowl grew from the kitchen table and sugar cubes blossomed within it like square carnations. 

Mrs. Scamander sat down across from Beth and delicately plopped two sugar cubes into her tea. "Awful weather lately, isn't it? Newt's been beside himself. You know how he is when he feels cooped up!" She chuckled maternally. "Never a dull moment though. He's revising his book again -- fifty-second edition. Imagine doing it again. I said, 'Newt, you're almost a hundred, it's time to enjoy your retirement!' He just snorted, you know how he does. Irritating man," she said fondly. "Milly! Get away from that cauldron!" 

Milly the Kneazle sauntered away from the fireplace, flicking her lion's tail coolly. 

"I got my letter from Hogwarts," Beth said, taking a sip of her tea. "I need to go into London to pick up my things. Can I use your Floo?" 

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Scamander assured her. "Any time at all. It must be difficult, living like a Muggle for the summertimes." 

Beth shook her head. "Not too different. I always lived like that back home. I just get used to having magic around, at school. I'm glad you live nearby," she ventured hesitantly. 

Mrs. Scamander beamed. "And we're glad you take the time to visit a few old fools like us. Why, if it weren't for you and the Kneazles, I'd have no one to fuss over except Newt. Right, dear?" 

An ancient man shuffled into the kitchen. He wore wrinkled plaid robes and a tall pointed hat that drooped over his bald forehead. "You fuss over me anyway," he grumbled. "How's a man supposed to get any work done with you women yammering away out here? Might as well join you." He pulled up a chair and rapped the table, producing his own mug of tea. "Chattering lasses, that's all you are." 

"What's that new animal you've got?" Beth asked, tea in hand. "The one like a horse with an eagle head?" 

Mr. Scamander's demeanor brightened considerably. "Just got him," he said proudly. "Noble, isn't he? He's a hippogriff. The hippogriff is native to Europe, though now found worldwide. It has the head of a giant eagle, and the body of a horse. It can be tamed, though this should be attempted only be experts --" 

"You're quoting yourself, dear." 

Mr. Scamander scowled. "Who's the writer here, me or you?" 

"I was only saying, dear." 

Still looking put out, Mr. Scamander cleared his throat and started again. "The Hippogriff burrows for insects but will also eat birds and small mammals." Beth made a face. "Let's see, I'm revising this part for the next edition -- Breeding Hippogriffs are known to ... no, no... Breeding Hippogriffs build nests upon the ground. Then they -- no, no, that's awkward --" 

Beth laughed. Being with the Scamanders was like having a real pair of grandparents, something she'd never actually experienced. She'd been lucky that her father was comfortable enough with magic to live near witches and wizards even when he wasn't one. Since she moved to Dorset, the Scamanders had been her link to the wizarding world, and eased her entry into Hogwarts almost immeasurably. 

"Stop using the poor girl as an editor, Newt, she's got to be on her way. Shopping to do, you know." Mrs. Scamander led Beth over to their fireplace and pulled a handful of powder from a large urn on the mantlepiece. "Have a good time in Diagon Alley, dear. Don't you go into Knockturn Alley --" 

"--It's full of shifty folk," Beth finished with a grin. Mrs. Scamander issued this warning every time she sent Beth off to London. 

"Don't get smart, missy, it's true as ever." Mrs. Scamander smiled fondly. "Oh, can you pick up a few quills for Newt? He goes through them so fast --" 

"--writing my fingers off --" Mr. Scamander called from the table. 

"Don't listen to him, he breaks them when he gets frustrated," Mrs. Scamander confided. "And he only uses goose quills. Superstitious. Well," she finished, giving Beth a final hug, "Off you go!" She tossed the powder into the fireplace, and a green cloud whirled above the logs. Beth kissed her cheek goodbye and stepped in. 

She felt as if she was flying downhill on jet-powered roller skates. On either side, doors and openings blurred past. She struggled to keep her balance. Just as she felt like she would faint from the speed, she saw the exit for Diagon Alley on the left, and threw herself through the opening just in time. 

Beth stumbled to her feet. All around her, men and women in robes and tall hats hurried down the cobblestone street. Little shops lined either side of the road, some barely wider than their doorframe, some crooked, some glimmering with decorations that on closer inspection turned out to be live fairies. 

The first thing to do in Diagon Alley was change Muggle money into wizard currency: gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and copper Knuts. Beth headed down the road toward Gringott's, the bank run by goblins. Since quite a few wizards came from Muggle households, and a handful of them even dealt with Muggle items regularly, Gringott's was equipped to convert Muggle pounds based on the current exchange rate. How they ever determined an exchange rate was a mystery to Beth, but she always felt as if she got a good deal out of it. 

Gringott's loomed over the rest of the street. At the front, a pair of goblin guards leered as she went by. The exchange station was around one corner, so she curved into a narrow cobbled alleyway and started down the close-quartered path. 

A few yards before her, a figure materialized through one of the Gringott's walls and took off running in Beth's direction. It was black-cloaked, and the face was hidden. Beth backed away and pressed herself against the wall. She had a brief terrified impression of a scraggly person with a very large head. The figure vaulted past Beth, giving her a hard shove as it passed. It whirled back around, cloak swirling, and pointed a wand at Beth's head. He cried once, "_Lethe Expungis!_" 

Beth threw herself to the ground and covered her head with her hands. She heard something zing past her and bounce off the walls like a pinball. Behind her, she heard someone issue a heavy grunt. The figure in black turned and sprinted away, vanishing into thin air a few paces later. 

A veritable horde of grunting goblins charged past Beth, narrowly missing trampling her to death. She stood up, shaking, and tried to collect what she had seen. A goblin sat on the ground near her feet, his eyes unfocused, with a stupid look on his already brutish face. As Beth gaped around, wondering what had happened and why she was in the middle of it, a pair of wizards came hurrying around the corner. 

The two wizards, clutching legal pads and thin crow-feather quills, scurried to the staring goblin and looked him over. "Memory wipe," one of them said. "He's forgotten he even exists." 

"Uurgh?" the goblin inquired. 

One of the wizards nodded curtly. Looking around, he noticed Beth as if for the first time. "You! Did you see what happened here?" 

Beth nodded dumbly. 

Both of the hurried-looking wizards became very excited. "I'll bet that memory charm was for you, then!" the first one said cheerfully. "Dodged it, did you?" 

Beth nodded again. 

"Say, do you mind coming with us?" interjected the first, who looked to be the younger of the two. "We'll need to see your testimony." 

See? Beth wondered, but before she knew what she was doing, she had followed the pair into Gringotts and been seated at one of the low-slung chairs in the lobby. 

"We need to check what you saw happen," the second one explained. He was short and red-faced, with a thin mustache that curled on the ends. "May we perform a Recurrus spell? You won't be harmed at all. It'll allow us to see what went on. Then you'll be let go." 

"Er -- all right," said Beth. She still felt confused and a little shaken. 

The two men laid a broad white parchment on the table before her. Beth stared down at it. Was she going to have to write down everything she'd seen? Draw it? 

The younger man laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "That's right, just keep looking at the parchment," he said soothingly. "Relax. It'll only take a moment." He laid his wand to her temple and said calmly, "_Recurrus_." 

The parchment before Beth's face began to swim with color. Slowly, foggy shapes came together, half-formed and wavering as if in a dream. She gazed at the swirling hues. Among them, Mrs. Scamander's face came into focus, and the scene began to form around her. A whirl of green marked her trip through the Floo, each second becoming crisper and sharper, until finally she saw Gringott's as clearly as if she were standing before it. 

On the parchment, the exchange station drew near. The dark figure appeared, charged, and raised his wand again in perfect detail. Then the picture crashed to the ground; the dark figure dashed away; the picture raised and righted, and two hurried wizards came into view. 

The younger wizard tapped Beth's forehead again, and the picture vanished. She felt a jolt, as if she had just been startled out of a dream The wizard with the mustache rolled up the parchment. "Thank you for your cooperation," he said stiffly, giving Beth a little bow. The young one patted her shoulder again. 

"We can use this to help catch that man," he explained. "He was attempting to rob the bank. Lucky the vault he broke into was already empty." He smiled, and Beth felt suddenly like a small child. "Also lucky you dove when you did, otherwise your mind would have been swept clean. Poor goblin," he added. "I'd better go see to him. Have a good day, miss." Without another word, the wizard darted out of Gringott's. 

Beth swallowed and looked around. She had never been inside Gringott's; now she saw that she wasn't missing anything. The goblin guards at the door were nothing compared to the hawkish tellers, and the gray stone walls were possibly even more dismal inside than out. 

Well, attempted robbery or no, there was still business to be done. She stood up, took a deep breath, and went to the tellers to see if one of them could supply her with Galleons and Sickles. 


	3. The Hogwarts Express

**Chapter Three: The Hogwarts Express**

Having received wizarding money in exchange for Muggle currency, Beth spent the day wandering up and down Diagon Alley, collecting her school supplies. She picked up several pounds of Potions ingredients, including a few that weren't on the list but she had plans for anyway. At Madame Malkin's she was measured and fitted for three new sets of black Hogwarts robes. The clothing and her books from Flourish and Blott's took most of her money, so she went from shop to shop for a long time looking for the best deals on quills and rolls of parchment. She found several secondhand quills which would be fine with a little sharpening, a bottle of her favorite green ink, and a dozen rolls of parchment that were marked down because there was a purple spot on them every few feet. 

By the end of the day, Beth was in an excellent mood. She had everything she needed for school, and enough money left for an ice-cream float at Fortescue's. She ran into Aaron Pucey and his big brother Adrian on the way back to the Floo center; both were Slytherins with an obsessive interest in Quidditch, the wizarding sport with six hoops, four balls, and fourteen players on broomsticks. Adrian, who played the position of Chaser on Slytherin's team, greeted her coolly, but Aaron gave her a big grin and started telling her about the games he'd seen over the summer until she had to excuse herself. 

The Floo center looked much like a telephone booth with a fire in the middle of the floor. Beth handed a Sickle and two Knuts to the bored-looking witch seated beside it, who poured a few teaspoons of green powder into Beth's hand. "Scamander residence, Dorset," Beth enunciated, and threw the Floo powder into the fire before stepping it in after it. 

Again she hurtled through space, struggling to keep her balance. Barely a minute later, Beth saw the Scamander's fireplace open up on her left, and she threw herself through, landing in the Scamander's kitchen with only a few bruises to show for it. 

Mrs. Scamander bustled over and helped Beth to her feet, clucking excitedly. "Did you have a good time, dear?" 

Beth nodded happily. "I saw a boy in my class, Aaron. He's such a Quid-head though." 

"Well, who doesn't enjoy a good game," Mrs. Scamander chuckled. "Newt himself has been supporting the Chudley Cannons for over seventy years. Shame how they've gone downhill. They were quite a force in their day..." 

They chatted for several more minutes. The thought of the Gringott's break-in crossed Beth's mind a few times, but she decided that it would only make Mrs. Scamander nervous -- not to mention her father -- and the solo trips to Diagon Alley would come to an end. It wasn't worth the risk, so she kept it to herself. 

Mrs. Scamander insisted on serving up lunch, so Beth stayed and enjoyed as many bowls of thick stew as she could stomach. After an excellent meal followed by a superb lemon torte, she left amid plenty of well-wishes for the coming year. The fantastic creatures in the backyard paddock watched her as she pedaled away. 

It was typical of her life, Beth thought on the way home, to travel by bicycle and by Floo in the same day. To use Muggle money to buy wolfsbane and eye of newt. Many Hogwarts students didn't have that kind of opportunity, she realized, but that didn't make it a privilege. 

If one were to examine the Parson household a bit closer than casually, one would find several things that seemed fishy. First, there were no fewer than four broomsticks lining the inside of the parlor closet, and occasionally one of them would give a twitch. The mantelpiece was lined with photographs, some of which moved. There was the owl in Beth's bedroom, the radio that played with no electricity, and the mirror in the hallway that gave a running commentary on peoples' appearances as they walked by. 

There were three paintings in the living room that didn't move, and they stood quietly side by side in the center of the mantelpiece in simple gold frames. They were Phaedra, Chris, and Lycaeon Parson; Beth's mother and older brothers, who had died in an accident eleven years before. 

Beth stopped and looked at the pictures before going down the hall to her bedroom. She sometimes wished that she'd been able to go to the funeral, although she was only three back then. She could barely remember what they had been like alive; her only real memories were what she saw in photographs. Phaedra, her mother, had dark hair in tight curls down her back, and a very beaky nose; she'd been a Ravenclaw. All three of her children had the fair hair of their father. Chris, who had been a Hufflepuff, looked neat and very smart. Lycaeon wore his hair long, in a bushy blonde ponytail down his back, and he was the only one of them to inherit Phaedra's hawk nose. He had been a Slytherin. 

If they were still alive, both of her brothers would be almost thirty years old, Beth thought with a sigh, as she had often done. They'd have wives, and their children - her nieces and nephews - would be almost adolescent. Moreover, Beth would have been raised as a real wizard, and they would never have moved to America. 

The Slytherins prized pure blood almost as highly as they did ambition. Beth couldn't think of anyone else in her house that had a Muggle parent - or admitted it - and she was definitely the only American in the school. Still, she'd made out all right; it had been a struggle, at first, but with two years under her belt she felt like she really belonged at Hogwarts. 

A scrabbling sounded from the kitchen. Leaving her packages on the floor, Beth bolted down the hall to the kitchen and threw open the window. An irritated-looking eagle owl fluttered in, dropped a long black envelope onto the ground, and perched on the counter expectantly. It started preening self-consciously. 

"Mail's here, Dad," Beth called. She filled a bowl of water for the owl and started digging through the refrigerator for any raw meat that might be hiding there. 

Mr. Parson shuffled in through the front door, holding a trowel in one gloved hand. He bent creakily and picked up the letter from the floor. He let out a grunt as he straightened back up. 

"Anything good?" 

"Junk mail," her father snorted. 

Beth pulled a plate of splotchy liver from the back of the refrigerator and put it in front of the owl, who began passionately tearing it to shreds. "Here then, I'll throw it out." She stuck out her hand. 

Mr. Parson kept his hold on the letter and moved past. "Never mind, Bethy, I'll throw it away. You make sure that owl is happy. Wouldn't want him to stop mailing us advertisements." 

Beth laughed. The eagle owl raised his head from the liver and gave Mr. Parson a very dirty look. 

***

Beth didn't actually need to be awake until nine o'clock on the third of September, but she woke up almost every hour on the hour, tossing fitfully until she sank back into half-sleep. At six-thirty she leapt out of bed and threw on her clothes. She spent the entire morning scouring the house for items she may have missed in the packing, but didn't find anything except her hairbrush and a large pile of pistachio shells under her bed. It took half an hour to say goodbye to the family owl and another forty-five to say goodbye to her father. 

A little after nine, Beth cast a spell on her luggage to make it float and tied it to the frame of her bicycle, where it bounced around merrily in the sky at the end of a long piece of twine. She biked to the Scamander's in an hour, and before she knew it she was lurching out of the Floo network with her steamer trunk in one hand, and landing near King's Cross Station, London. 

Platforms Nine and Ten of King's Cross Station bustled as usual with Muggles scurrying to meet trains. Feeling obvious, Beth tugged her steamer trunk to the partition between the ninth and tenth platform. Glancing around once to be sure that no one was paying undue attention, she clenched her eyes shut and lurched into the solid partition. 

She collapsed onto the floorboards behind the barrier, still gripping the handle of her trunk. It was as if she was in an entirely different train station. Students lugged their suitcases around, with cauldrons and cages stuffed under their arms. ("Don't smother him, Brian!" one little girl demanded of her owl-carrying brother.) The odd broomstick poked out of duffel bags. 

"Oof!" 

A small figure shuttled through the barrier, tripped over Beth's steamer trunk, and flew into her, knocking them both over in a tangled heap. "_Neville!_" a sharp voice cracked, and the other person scrambled off of her, falling every which way as he did. 

"Oops, sorry Gran -- sorry there, you -- ouch --" 

The unfortunate Neville was tugged away by his impatient grandmother. 

Beth pulled herself to her feet and hauled her luggage away from the partition. She heaved it over to the scarlet train that stood steaming impatiently and shoved the trunk into a compartment with much difficulty. Clapping the dust from her hands, she gazed around for a glimpse of her schoolmates. 

There went a handsome boy that she recognized, a Hufflepuff named Diggory, but she pretended to be looking somewhere else as he passed. She knew a few of the older Slytherins that strolled around commenting on their summer victories, but didn't want to sound childish so she ignored them too. A few feet from where she had been bowled over, a fat toad hopped around in confusion. There was Chang, a girl from Ravenclaw just a year younger -- Wood, the good-looking Gryffindor Quidditch captain who was two years older than Beth -- Terrence Higgs, a Slytherin who glared at Wood as they crossed paths -- 

"Beth! Over here!" 

Melissa Ollivander and Bruce Bletchley came panting up, towing luggage and smiling broadly. Bruce's beloved broomstick, a Comet Two Sixty, protruded from his suitcase. "Stuff your things in here, we'll grab this one!" Beth grinned, and helped them pack. They clambered onto the train and sank into a compartment, glad to be out of the heat. 

"Did you get my letter?" Melissa demanded. "I sent it with your owl almost a month ago." Melissa had long black hair and a tendency toward impatience. 

"Yeah, but Bruce's letter must have gotten lost in the mail," Beth teased. 

Bruce turned red. "Couldn't write -- busy -- practice, you know --" 

"He's going to try out for Keeper this year on the House team," Melissa said. "They'd be mad not to take him this year, reserve last year and all, and now that Shepp graduated we haven't anyone who's better at blocking." 

"Got some new moves ... read up ... " Bruce murmured. 

Beth was never gladder to see her friends. "What was it like in Germany?" she wanted to know. 

"Cold and windy," Melissa sniffed. "But since Mother and Father know so many people, I had a chance to meet some of the greatest witches and wizards in Germany. Lots of them are quite famous. I'm going to keep up with a few of them." She gave Beth a guilty look. "Better than I did with you, I mean." 

"Wants to be famous herself," said Bruce. 

"Did you get all your books?" Melissa interrupted, looking embarrassed. "Thick this year, aren't they?" 

"I only had to get a few. We had _A History of Magic_ from two years ago, you know, and we had some of the others from --" Beth broke off. "From before," she finished lamely. 

Melissa pursed her lips knowingly but didn't say anything, leaving Beth feeling relieved. Not everyone knew that she had two dead brothers and a deceased mother, and even though she hadn't really known them enough to miss them, it still made for awkward discussions when the subject of family came up. Should she tell people that she had two brothers or none? And if she said that her father was a Muggle, it made her sound like a mudblood instead of half-and-half, which in Slytherin counted for infinitely more. 

They had hardly noticed the train start to move forward as they were talking. Now a piercing whistle shrieked past their window, and King's Cross Station receded in a blur behind them. Soon, London gave way to hilly countryside. Half an hour or so later, a witch came through pushing a food cart, and the three nearly bought her out of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. They passed the time listening to stories about Melissa's summer and trying to get Bruce to eat the suspiciously colored beans. 

"There are dark forests, full of fantastic beasts and spirits ..." 

"This one looks like marshmallow," said Beth, handing Bruce a bean that was obviously flavored like cotton. 

"They have lovely castles too," Melissa was saying, "with the most delightful, serious ghosts. I'll bet the Bloody Baron was from Germany." The Bloody Baron haunted the Slytherin quarters of Hogwarts. "Some of the lady ghosts were beautiful, with long drapy dresses...." 

"Noblewomen, I should expect," a long, drawling voice interrupted. Beth looked up to see a slender pale boy flanked by two other boys with the faces of eleven-year-olds and the bodies of apes. 

"Yes, I was introduced to a few!" Melissa agreed, delighted. Bruce scowled. 

"Who are you?" 

The slim boy bowed at the waist. "Draco Malfoy, of the Malfoys." He glanced over his shoulder. "This is Crabbe and Goyle." 

Beth suppressed a snort, but Melissa's face lit up. "Of course, you must be Lucius's son. He's a school governor, I've met him --" she said for Bruce and Beth's mutual benefits. "Going to be a Slytherin then?" 

He smiled thinly, and Beth noticed how pale his watery-blue eyes made him appear. "All of my family has been Slytherins." 

Bruce looked at him, some small distaste leaving his expression. "Our house, then." 

"I'd be honored." 

Melissa practically beamed. "Tell your father I wish you both well. Well -- I nearly forgot -- you'll never guess who they say is on this train. Harry Potter!" 

Beth's looked at her in astonishment. "_The_ Harry Potter?" 

Even Bruce looked impressed. "About that age ... that scar ... wonder if he'll be a Slytherin?" 

Draco Malfoy of the Malfoys cocked his head haughtily. "The most famous House for the world's most famous wizard, I'm sure!" 

He and Melissa shared a peal of laughter. "They sound like they're at a cocktail party," Beth murmured to Bruce, who choked on a chicken-flavored Bertie Bott's Bean. 

The pale boy wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. "Thank you for your company, I must be getting along. There's a whole train full of people to meet, you know! I'll see you at the Sorting Ceremony!" He bowed again, and left the compartment flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. 

"Delightful," Melissa smiled, watching him go. 

Beth poked her friend to get her attention. "Did you really say that Harry Potter was on here?" she demanded. "Where'd you hear that?" 

Melissa moved uncomfortably. "Well, they've been saying it up and down the train station," she admitted. "Sort of in passing. But he's old enough to be a first year by now, and surely he'd be at Hogwarts." 

Beth figured momentarily. "I guess it was this year or the next. What's he look like? Does he have that scar? Here, Bruce, I think this one's lime." 

"I don't know, I didn't see him," Melissa said crossly. "How should I know?" 

"Eugh, Beth, that's okra!" 

"Well, let's watch for him in the moat-crossing then anyway. Come on, it's time for lunch." 

Melissa's family was made of prosperous wizards on every side, so she always carried the most interesting lunches. She had brought three thick croissants stuffed with Diricawl meat ("Muggles called them 'dodos', what a silly name") and a whole pile of bewitched grapes that would change the color of your eyes for a few minutes after you ate them. The best part was that they came in all kinds of colors, including smoke, fuchsia and crimson. The three had a tremendous amount of fun eating the red ones and then peeking out of their compartment at the first-years, who huddled farther and farther back into their seats every time it happened. 

"I think apricot is really your color, darling," Melissa was simpering, silver-eyed, when the door to their compartment opened and a young girl with puffy brown hair poked her head in. She was closely shadowed by the boy who had knocked into Beth at the train station. 

"Excuse me, have you seen a toad? Neville's lost his." 

Bruce scowled. "No." 

Beth felt too cheerful to answer politely. "I saw one on the ground back at the station," she giggled, and Neville's face assumed a look of horror. 

The big-haired girl frowned. "You needn't have said that," she sniffed. "Come on, I'm sure it's on the train." She stomped out of the compartment with Neville behind her, nearly in tears. 

Bruce raised his eyebrows after them. "La-tee-ta. You _needn't_ have said that, Beth, how simply _awful_ of you. Tra-dilly-da." 

They laughed until they cried. 


	4. The Parchment in the Potato

[_Author's Note_]: Since this novel is designed to perfectly coincide with The Sorcerer's Stone, there are times when my use of existing factors degrades into near-plagiarism. (Apologies to Ms. Rowling.) This is one of those scenes. There's another at the Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match, and one at the end-of-year feast. As for the rest, you'll have to pick them out yourself. :-) 

**Chapter Four: The Parchment in the Potato**

A few hours later, the Hogwarts Express rolled into Hogsmeade station and the students clambered out, chattering excitedly. Since Beth was the tallest of her group of three, she gazed around over the tops of heads looking for the mythical Potter with the scar on his head. 

"I bet he's short, and we'll never find him," she complained, as the group started to shuffle down the platform and toward a long line of horseless stagecoaches. She could see a group of first-years following the formidable gamekeeper Hagrid toward the moat. "Looks like that kid got his toad back." Melissa sniggered. Beth followed her into one of the stagecoaches with a little sigh and a last backward glance. "At least we'll see him at the Sorting." 

The moldy-smelling carriage bumped along the road for a few minutes; soon, the lopsided spires of Hogwarts rose into view. They bounced through the enormous iron gates ("What are those, flying pigs on top?") and up to the long stone staircase that led to the entrance hall. 

The hall was as gloriously decorated as ever. The bewitched ceiling swirled with stars; long tables waited for the returning students. Everyone scrambled to sit at their House tables before the first years came in; it was as exciting to watch the Sorting as to actually take part in it, and far easier on the nerves. 

Beth found herself sitting between Melissa and Bruce. Across from her, a fourth-year named Richard Shaw was whispering in the ear of an older student that Beth didn't recognize. To his left, Uther Montague slouched lazily in his chair. Uther was a Chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch team, and was largely responsible for their winning streak. Consequently he appeared to be very vain. 

"Here they are!" Melissa squealed, as the large, shaggy Hagrid stooped to enter the Great Hall, followed by a nervous-looking flock of first-years. "They're so _little_!" The boy across from her raised his eyebrows. 

The school watched excitedly as Professor McGonagall, head of the Gryffindor house, led the first-years single file to the front of the Hall and left them in a line as she went to retrieve the Sorting Hat. The frayed wizard's hat was set on its stool. 

"They don't know what to do with it," Melissa murmured gleefully, but Beth was more interested in what Richard hissed to the boy beside him: 

"All right, Riggs, start it up." 

The boy on Richard's right pulled a pen from the pocket of his robes, licked the nub, and set it discreetly on a napkin in front of him, where it hovered on the point. 

A tear along the hat's brim opened up, and a song burst from the Sorting Hat: 

    _"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,   
    But don't judge on what you see,   
    I'll eat myself if you can find   
    A smarter hat than me.   
    You can keep your bowlers black,   
    Your top hats sleek and tall,   
    For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat   
    And I can cap them all."
_

"It gets cornier every year," murmured Bruce. 

_    "There's nothing hidden in your head   
    The Sorting Hat can't see,   
    So try me on and I will tell you   
    Where you ought to be."
_

Beth glanced back at Riggs' napkin. The pen appeared to be writing down the entire song; it even flourished the capital letters of each line. 

_    "You might belong in Gryffindor,   
    Where dwell the brave at heart,   
    Their daring, nerve, and chivalry   
    Set Gryffindors apart;   
    You might belong in Hufflepuff   
    Where they are just and loyal,   
    Those patient Hufflepuffs are true   
    And unafraid of toil;   
    Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,   
    If you've a ready mind,   
    Where those of wit and learning   
    Will always find their kind;   
    Or perhaps in Slytherin   
    You'll make your real friends,   
    Those cunning folk use any means   
    To achieve their ends."
_

"Two lines to everyone else's three," the fourth-year named Richard grumbled to his friend Riggs. "Goes to show." 

    _"So put me on! Don't be afraid!   
    And don't get in a flap!   
    You're in safe hands (thought I have none)   
    For I'm a Thinking Cap!"
_

The students applauded thunderously. Many of the first-years looked relieved, but others seemed even worse-off than before. The boy with (or without) the toad seemed ready to faint. 

Across from Melissa, Riggs discreetly leaned down and whispered to his hovering pen, which had finished writing the song and was doodling pairs of clapping hands along the napkin's edge. 

"Who's the first Slytherin, now?" Melissa chirped enthusiastically. "Hufflepuff -- another one -- Ravenclaw -- another one -- coming in pairs, this year --" 

"WE CAN HEAR FOR OURSELVES!" hissed Bruce loudly. Uther Montague sniggered. 

"Bulstrode, Millicent!" called Professor McGonagall. 

Millicent, a large and squarish girl, slunk to the stool and stuffed the cap over her head. "SLYTHERIN!" cried the Sorting Hat. 

The Slytherin table burst into applause. "She's tough-looking, bet she can play Beater!" Uther exclaimed, looking enthused for the first time all night. 

As each table received its new members, the Hall degenerated into rowdy cheering and applause. Beth thought she heard some catcalls from the Gryffindor table. Soon afterward, "Crabbe, Vincent" and "Goyle, Gregory" joined the Slytherins, to the delight of Uther ("Look at them, they're going to be giants! The Quidditch Cup is ours!") 

Riggs' pen was hard at work, recording each name and which house they were assigned to. As she leaned back for another look, she accidentally caught Richard's eye. Blushing furiously, she turned back around and tried to pay attention to the Sorting, where "MacDougal, Morag" was greeted enthusiastically by the Slytherins. 

"It's the boy from the train!" Melissa cried excitedly, as "Malfoy, Draco" sauntered to the Slytherin table. Bruce issued a grunt of general goodwill. 

Soon after, "Parkinson, Pansy" became a Slytherin. A pair of twin girls was split into two different houses. Then -- 

"Potter, Harry!" 

The shouts and cheers suddenly shifted to whispers. From the corner of her eye, Beth could glimpse Richard sitting bolt upright in his seat. "_Potter_, did she say?" he hissed to Riggs, who checked over his pen's notes and confirmed the name. 

Beth craned her neck for a look at the famous wizard. _He doesn't look like much_, she thought. In fact, with the Sorting Hat falling over his nose and his feet dangling above the floor, he looked just like any other nervous kid about to start his first year at Hogwarts. _Come on_, she found herself thinking. _Put him with us, and Slytherin will be better than ever_. 

"Please Slytherin, please Slytherin," she heard someone murmuring behind her. It was Richard. The Sorting Hat opened its brim -- 

"GRYFFINDOR!" 

The wild applause from the Gryffindor table couldn't mask groans of disappointment from all of the other tables, most prominently the Slytherins. Even Bruce looked discouraged. A few minutes later, "Zabini, Blaise" entered their midst, but she was greeted into a slightly crestfallen group. Looking a little sour at her muted acceptance, she took a seat near Pansy and Draco. 

At the fore of the room, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had risen to his feet. He was old, Beth recognized, but old in a way that made him wiser, not weaker. Unlike her father, she thought bitterly. At his gesture, the hall fell silent. 

"Welcome!" he beamed, arms outstretched. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" 

The Slytherins shared a confused laugh. "That's one for the record books," Melissa said. Glancing over her shoulder, Beth ascertained that Riggs and his magic pen had taken it down as well. 

Since it looked like the announcements were over, Beth and Melissa turned back to the table, where Bruce had already begun to dig in. Food magically arose from the once-empty serving platters -- watching the gravy dish was like seeing a puddle fill in with murky water. Beth helped herself to a slab of bacon and steak. 

"Potatoes, Beth?" 

She looked up to see who had spoken: it was Richard, holding out the plate of tubers. Beside him, Riggs was stuffing his napkin and enchanted pen into his robes. "I -- don't really like baked potatoes, thanks," she stammered. 

Richard smiled winningly. "I think you'll get on all right with these." Without warning, he had lifted one of the potatoes with a set of golden tongs and deposited it on top of her steak. "Potatoes, Melissa?" 

As Melissa accepted her baked potato suspiciously, Beth pushed hers off to one side. Richard had moved on down the line to Mervin Fletcher, a red-haired boy in Beth's year. Donating one more potato to Bruce's plate ("But I've already got two!") he put the plate down and sat back to a pile of sausages and Yorkshire pudding. 

"He didn't take any baked potatoes for himself," Beth whispered irritably to Melissa. 

"Are you finished with the pork chops?" came a polite drawl from behind them. Draco Malfoy stood with his hands behind his back, smugly surveying the Slytherin table. 

"Of course, here you are," simpered Melissa, handing him the platter. "Good show in the Sorting!" 

Draco smiled superiorly. "I warned you, I'd be one of you," he chuckled. "Thank you, I'll return this soon." He lowered his voice. "Very soon. I'm sitting next to the house ghost, and he doesn't seem to like me." 

"The Bloody Baron doesn't like anyone," Uther Montague interjected carelessly, winning a glare from the hollow-eyed specter at the end of the table. The ghost wore dark robes stained with silvery blood, and his eyes gazed blankly from a drawn and haggard face. 

"Say," Draco continued, dropping his voice even further, "do any of you know why he's covered in blood?" 

Riggs dropped his fork. Uther and Richard exchanged uneasy glances before Richard spoke up, "No one does. Secret of the castle, chap. I'm sure the answer died with him." 

Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Or maybe it's like him -- dead, but not gone." 

There was a pause. Then Richard furrowed his brow in annoyance and took a long draught from his goblet. When he was done he placed it back on the table with a clunk and smacked his lips. "Good to have you in Slytherin, chap. Hope to see you around occasionally." 

The pale boy's jaw dropped in amazement at the unmistakable dismissal. Scowling, he swept back to his seat and plunked down, casting a dirty look at Richard that may have only partly been an excuse to avoid the Bloody Baron's empty gaze. 

"Speaking of ghosts, the new Gryffindors have discovered Nearly Headless Nick," Melissa said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Attention shifted to the Gryffindor table, where the former Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington had grabbed his ear and wrenched his head straight off his neck, so that it rested at a ninety-degree angle on his shoulder. "At least we have a proper ghost," she added for form's sake. 

Across the table, Richard smiled grimly. "At the very least. But they have Potter, so they have the glory. We'll have to work hard to top them this year." 

"Don't worry, Terry's still our Seeker," Uther boomed jovially, beating Bruce to the last lamb chop. "All we need is a good Keeper and it's in the bag. You worry too much, old sport." 

Bruce was gaping at Uther in new fascination. He appeared to be drooling. Beth gave him a hard nudge in the side, and he sputtered, "I -- I can play Keeper ... been practicing ... new moves..." He swallowed half of a sausage in one nervous gulp. 

Uther looked him up and down appraisingly. "All right, we'll give you a try-out. Have your own broom, do you?" 

Bruce nodded in open-mouthed stupor. "Uh-huh. Try-out." He roused himself. "You -- you won't be sorry!" 

"I think Bruce just said a whole sentence," Melissa murmured dryly, and both of them burst into laughter. 

The feast had slowed down; only a few of the larger ones, Bruce included, still heaped the main courses onto their plates. Richard cast his eyes about worriedly. "You really ought to dig into those potatoes," he told Melissa and Beth, then moved down the table before Beth could sputter that she already said that she didn't like them. 

Richard looked back at her from Mervin's place. His left eye twitched -- he had _winked_. 

Suddenly Beth found herself gazing at her baked potato with a lot more interest. 

Talking up one of the golden knives, she carefully slit it down the middle, half expecting something slimy to come out of it. Instead, she heard a slight tearing. Bending closer, she saw a scrap of parchment, which formed the words "Don't say anything." 

As soon as Beth had registered the meaning of the sentence, the ink swirled and sank into the page as if it had never been there. It reappeared and swarmed into formation. 

"Put me in your pocket. Be discreet." 

Beth glanced around with narrowed eyes. Mervin was dissecting his potato with equal uneasiness, but Melissa seemed to have already pocketed the paper -- her potato was half-eaten, and her face was flushed with excitement. To her left, Bruce devoured a chicken wing while his potato sat untouched. A scrap was barely visible though a crack in the skin. 

Moving slowly, Beth slipped the paper from the baked potato and casually shoved it into her pocket. Then, being careful to look the other way, she gave Bruce a very hard elbow in the side and motioned toward the paper. She became suddenly very interested in the antics of the Hufflepuff ghost. 

"What do you want?" Bruce asked grumpily through a mouth full of peas, but he broke off. She had to assume that he'd gotten the message, because not a moment later the main courses faded into desserts. 

Richard had reappeared at his seat and was rubbing his hands together cheerfully. "Treacle tarts! Excellent way to end the night." He made no sign of acknowledging Beth's questioning stares. 

Beth turned away from him and faced the teacher's table. She ran her eyes down the row of teachers, ticking off the ones she recognized and noting the ones she did not. She stopped short near the end. "What on _earth_ is on Professor Quirrell's _head_?" she demanded. A few Slytherins snickered. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was wearing a large, odiously purple turban. On his slender frame, it looked as if he would tip over from the weight of it. 

"It's all the latest rage in Germany," Melissa giggled. 

"Really?" 

"Don't be a twit, Bruce." 

"That means no," clarified Beth. 

Eventually the desserts evaporated from their trays, to Bruce's chagrin, and Professor Dumbledore once again stood. The cheerful chatter faded out and the congregated students turned to face the headmaster. 

"Ahem --" Dumbledore began. "Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered." 

There was a scuffle behind Beth; when she turned, she could make out Riggs scrambling to reactivate his pen. 

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors." A Slytherin snorted derisively. "Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch." 

Bruce almost stood in his sudden desire to find Madam Hooch -- Beth was sure that he would practically leap on her as soon as the feast ended. 

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death." 

There was a smattering of laughter from the Gryffindor table. Behind her, Beth heard Richard let out a slow whistle, then murmur to Riggs in an indistinguishably low voice. 

"And now, before we go to bed --" 

"Oh, no!" Melissa wailed quietly. 

"Let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore raised his wand and a strand of gold floated from it, twining into words near the ceiling. "Everyone pick your favorite tune and off we go!" 

Beth had been preparing all summer: she sang the school anthem to the tune of the Star Spangled Banner. Bruce appeared to be making it up as he went, while Melissa belted a very pretty operatic tune. 

    _"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,   
    Teach us something please,   
    Whether we be old and bald   
    Or young with scabby knees,   
    Our head could do with filling   
    With some interesting stuff,   
    For now they're bare and full of air   
    Dead flies and bits of fluff,   
    So teach us things worth knowing,   
    Bring back what we've forgot,   
    Just do your best, we'll learn the rest,   
    And learn until our brains all rooooooooot."
_

The song finished with the Weasley twins harmonizing a very slow dirge. The Great Hall rang with applause. Still looking enthralled with the "music", Dumbledore excused the students and they flocked into the corridors to their chambers. 

"Come on, first-years stay close," Jerome Marx called from the front of the crowd. Beth recognized him as a seventh-year. 

"He must be the new prefect," she said to Melissa. 

"Of course he is," Melissa replied, a little snootily. "He has the badge, hasn't he? I spent the whole meal trying to see who was wearing it this year, since Zamora graduated last year." 

Beth scowled. "Just like you British, always trying to find the authority." 

Melissa sniffed. "Just like an American not to notice one." 

The group of Slytherins wound down an increasingly damp hallway. After a series of twists and turns, they came to a dead end: a solid stone wall with patches of moss and cobwebs. 

"Hang on, here I come," Jerome called, pushing his way to the wall. "The new password is 'anaconda'." The wall suddenly gave way to a long, low room with greenish lamps hanging from the ceiling and lots of high-backed chairs. Some of the first-years gasped in awe at the common room; to the older students, the sight was -- well, common -- and they cascaded through the room and into one of two hallways which led to the boys' and girls' bedchambers. 

Beth and Melissa bid Bruce a good-night. 

Bruce jerked his attention away from Uther Montague, who stood discoursing about this year's Quidditch prospects near the elaborately carved mantelpiece while a pair of enamored first-year girls watched covertly. "Huh -- wha?" 

"Never mind, Brucey dear," said Melissa, patting his arm. "It's time to retire to our beauty sleep. See you in the morning." 

She and Beth left for their bedroom, leaving Bruce in the common room looking as bewildered as usual. 

Everyone's trunks had been set near their velvet-canopied beds, and someone had even laid out a pair of pajamas for them each, so it wasn't long before the third-year girls in Beth's dorm retreated to their curtained beds for private reading or sleep. Beth changed quickly and crawled under her quilt almost immediately, but her head hadn't hit the pillow before she remembered the piece of parchment that she got at dinner. 

She poked her head out from between the curtains on her bed. Her robes lay crumpled on the floor -- a quick looting of the pockets proved that the paper was right there. She palmed it and shut the curtains again, as discreetly as possible. "_Lumos_," she whispered, and the end of her wand lit up like a candle. By this dim, cool light, she unfolded the parchment. 

It was blank at first; but seeming to sense her eyes, tiny droplets of ink seeped from the paper and slid around until they formed the words: 

"Do not speak or write to anyone about this message." 

Beth's mouth dropped open. "Why?" she demanded, feeling silly to be speaking to a slip of paper, but the ink was already changing formation. 

"Meet in the common room at eleven thirty on Thursday night." The ink swirled and shifted again. 

"Keep this with you. Regards: the S.S.A." 

This message shimmered in the wand's light for a few seconds; then the words shrunk into the paper as if they had never been there. Beth stared at the blank page, turned it over to be sure there was nothing on the back, and crinkled her brow in confusion. The S.S.A? She'd never heard of anything like it at Hogwarts. There had been a dueling club many years ago, and the Quidditch teams acted like little clubs of their own, but she'd never known any organization that handed out magical notes stuffed into vegetables. 

Beth put the paper in her pajamas pocket. Thinking better of it, she transferred it to her cloak, then took it back out and held it awhile before finally nestling it under her pillow. If she was to keep the scrap with her, then she would do so to the letter, she though nobly. 

"Nox." Her wand flickered out, and she closed her eyes in the darkness and slept. 


	5. Melissa's Curse

**Chapter Five: Melissa's Curse**

When they got to the breakfast table the next morning, Professor Snape, the head of Slytherin House, was already handing out new schedules. Beth took hers and read it without surprise: Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Transfiguration, Divination, and the always-present Potions, Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts. She sat down near Bruce and Melissa to engage in the traditional griping. 

Melissa was looking over her schedule with something like disgust. "Oh no, we've got Potions with the Gryffindors again!" 

Potions was easily Beth's favorite subject, and since Professor Snape was always willing to help out his fellow Slytherins, one of her best. Unfortunately, the Gryffindors hated Professor Snape as a rule, and leapt at the chance to disrupt his class as much as possible. 

"And Care of Magical Creatures," Bruce added, casting a glance at the Gryffindor table where a pair of red-headed twin boys were engaged in unflattering Snape impressions. 

"At least we have Transfiguration on our own. Herbology with the Ravenclaws shouldn't be so bad." 

"I haven't got Herbology, I have Ancient Runes," Melissa said glumly. "We're all thrown together in that one." 

"Same as Arithmancy," Beth agreed. 

Bruce's face suddenly assumed a look of horror. "You're not -- not taking Herbology?" 

"Double negative, Brucey," Melissa chastised briskly, while Beth laughed. "Neither of us. You're not on your own, though. Aaron has it too." 

Across from them, Aaron Pucey was struggling to unfold his napkin and babbling to Warrington about the Quidditch trials. Bruce's jaw dropped further. 

"Well -- you're in Divination, right?" he said, somewhat desperately. 

"Mm hmm," said Melissa, involved with her scrambled eggs. 

"Both of us," Beth seconded. "Aaron took Muggle Studies instead. Right, Little Puce?" 

Aaron looked up at her and grinned. "Right. 'Spect I'm the only Slytherin in Muggle Studies though." 

"Probably right, after what most Slytherins say about Muggles and Muggle-born," Melissa agreed. "Well, torment a few Hufflepuffs for us." 

Aaron gave her the thumbs-up. "Count on it." 

Melissa looked around. "Time to go, everyone's leaving for classes." Students filtered slowly out of the Great Hall. The older ones were chatting excitedly; the first years just looked ill. A few of them carried pastries and fruit from breakfast, presumably for classroom munchies. 

Beth stood and hauled Bruce out of a pile of hash browns. "We'll be late for Divination, get your nose out of that food. I hear it takes fifteen minutes just to get to class, and then there's a trapdoor." 

The Divination class turned out to be held at the very tip of the North Tower, in a round room that looked like a coffee shop. Professor Trelawney, a large-eyed and sappy-voiced witch, guided the class through their first tea-leaf analysis and predicted three tragic events, including the death of Mervin Fletcher, the boy with a lot of red hair. Beth came out of the classroom feeling woozy from the heavy incense and dim lighting. 

"What's next?" she asked Bruce, who was fumbling with his schedule. 

"Transfiguration with McGonagall." This was Bruce's worst subject. 

They stumbled into the classroom, blinking at the harsh lighting. Beth and Melissa grabbed seats in the front row. Bruce ended up several rows behind them. 

Professor McGonagall, head of the Gryffindor house, began the lesson by reviewing some very basic principles. Beth felt her attention wander. Melissa nudged her sharply. 

"...and I'm sure you all remember from Mr. Fletcher's undertaking last year, shortcuts will never get you anywhere." 

Mervin Fletcher had tried to turn his quill into spun sugar and ended up nearly poisoning himself. The class laughed as Mervin's cheeks turned the color of his flaming hair. 

"With all of that behind us, it's time to move forward into more complex forms of transfiguration -- living being to living being. Here, you can't rely on the simplification that comes when your original object is inanimate. The most extreme example of this is the case of Animagi, wizards who can turn into animals at will." 

"I met one of those in Germany," Melissa whispered. 

"It's a difficult but worthwhile endeavor to become and Animagus," Professor McGonagall was saying at the front of the room. "To wizards who do not intend to misuse their powers, the registration is only a slight hassle." 

As she spoke, she seemed to shrink down to the desk. It was a few moments before Beth realized that she really was shrinking, and her skin was growing more and more yellow as she did. Additionally, McGonagall appeared to be hairier than anyone had ever seen her. 

In a few breathless seconds, McGonagall had completely morphed into a yellow tabby cat with squarish markings in the exact shape of her glasses. The class burst into applause. 

The human McGonagall reappeared before them, flushed and pleased. "On a similar note," she continued, adopting her usual severe tone, "we must be aware that it is also possible for a person to take on the shape of another person. This transformation requires a complex potion but is entirely possible, so always be on your guard: if something doesn't seem right, it may not be." 

"Maybe we can give some to Bruce, to make him look like Diggory," Beth whispered to Melissa, who sniggered behind her parchment. 

They spent the rest of the hour trying to change Japanese beetles into ladybugs. It turned out to be far more complicated than anyone had guessed, and many of the beetles ended up with nothing more than a few black spots on their shiny green shells. McGonagall changed them all back into Japanese beetles as they were collected, and assigned a three-foot-long paper about Animagi registration. 

At lunch, they sat around comparing their first-day classes. 

"I _never_ had so much homework on the first day," Beth griped. "We're going to _need_ those Hogsmeade trips. Two essays for Trelawney. What are they trying to do?" 

"And three feet on Animagi already!" Melissa complained. "McGonagall's worse than ever!" 

It was well known that Professor McGonagall had it in for the Slytherins, since they had captured both the House Cup and the Quidditch tournament for the past six years. 

Bruce looked up from a large tuna-salad sandwich. "S'not so bad," he said in a surprisingly mellow tone. "Just write big." 

Melissa had tiny, intricate handwriting. 

"Haven't had Arithmancy yet," Beth said halfheartedly, reaching across the table for a croissant. "Sounds half scary." 

"Speaking of half scary, have you seen our Care of Magical Creatures professor?" Melissa interjected, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Professor Kettleburn. He's terrifying. Scars and things." 

"Looks super," said Bruce. His voice was muted by the sandwich in his mouth. "Knows what he's doing, if he's got scars." 

"Shouldn't he not have any scars if he was any good at caring for magical creatures?" 

"Well, at least he tries then." 

"He must have tried a little too hard," Melissa added. "Did you see his hand?" 

"No, what?" Beth asked, suddenly interested. 

"It's missing. He's fixed his wand straight on to his arm instead." 

Bruce and Beth joined in a chorus of disgust. "How?" 

Melissa shrugged. 

The discussion was interrupted by Professor Snape coming to usher the students to class and provide directions to lost-looking first years. They entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom still theorizing over Kettleburn's missing hand. Melissa stopped dead at her first glance at Professor Quirrell. "Look, he's still wearing it!" she squealed under her breath. 

Beth gaped delightedly. The purple turban added at least a foot to Quirrell's diminutive height, and the color was even more noxious up close. Moreover, there was a faint smell about the room that seemed to center around the turban. It almost resembled -- 

"_Garlic_," said Aaron Pucey, in a gleeful whisper. "He's stuffed it full of garlic to keep away the vampires!" 

Muffled chortles surrounded them, and even as they found seats and started getting out their books, little giggles erupted every now and then. 

Professor Quirrell turned away from the board, where he had been scrawling unintelligible notes in very small handwriting. "Welcome, w-welcome," he said, looking pleased to see a class full of students making fun of him. "I h-hope you had a good s-s-summer ... mine was an adv-venture ..." 

"Where did you get your turban?" Aaron Pucey said loudly, from the back of the room. Titters sprung up again. 

Professor Quirrell gave him a short look. "It was a reward from a p-prince of A-Africa, where I s-s-spent my v-vacation. I helped him r-rid his v-village of an especially p-persistent z-z-zombie." 

Mervin Fletcher didn't look like he was buying the story, but Beth couldn't be sure since that was Mervin's usual look. "Where in Africa?" 

"I-Ivory Coast," Quirrell stammered, turning a rosy pink. "Er -- now then -- the lesson for t-today..." 

It was the class's third year with Quirrell, and they soon realized that he was no more exciting this year despite his zombie-hunting excursion. A few pages of notes was all it took before Quirrell's stuttering voice became a drone. Beth felt sleepy and warm from lunch, and nothing sounded better than a nap. She propped her head up on one arm and tried to look like she was giving the lecture her undivided attention. 

"Oy, Beth!" 

Beth raised her head up warily. Across the aisle, Melissa was giving her a pointed gaze, flicking her eyes to the paper in front of her and back to Beth's face. Beth leaned over. 

Melissa smiled and picked up her quill. Just as she touched the nub to the paper --"AAI! My -- my hand!" 

Beth jumped back in alarm. Melissa clutched her right hand in obvious agony. At the front of the room, Quirrell rushed over in a state of panic. "Are you - are you all r-right?" 

"No!" Melissa gasped, near tears. "I have a ... a cramp..." Her face was flushed, Beth guessed only partly from pain. "I was going to tell Beth about --" 

Her words stopped suddenly, and an incoherent squeal issued from her clamped lips. Beth realized that her chin looked strained -- almost as if she couldn't open her mouth. 

"L-lockjaw," Quirrell diagnosed in amazement. "Let's g-get you to M-Madame Pomfrey ... looks l-like a curse ... d-did you see who c-cast it?" 

Melissa shook her head tearfully, making whimpering noises. 

"C-come on then," Quirrell ordered, taking her good hand and helping her to her feet. He turned back to the class. "Finish r-reading the chapter for t-tomorrow, and hand in a s-s-summary. You're free to g-go." He escorted Melissa out of the room, as she shook silently in his arms. 

Beth gaped after them -- then she jumped from her chair and rushed to the door. She could still see the pair making their way down the hall. She threw all her things into her knapsack and bolted to catch up with them. 

"Miss Parson!" 

Beth ground to a halt. "Professor McGonagall! Melissa got cursed --" 

"What are you doing out of class?" 

Beth drew her breath and tried again. "Professor, Melissa got cursed, and he called off class -- Professor Quirrell did -- and they're on their way to the hospital wing now --" 

McGonagall turned and stared down the hall, as if she could see where Quirrell and Melissa were at that moment. "Then your class is teacherless?" 

"Please, Professor, we were excused -- I need to go see Melissa --" 

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Very well. I'll take it on faith that you're telling the truth. Thank you for warning me about your classmates, who will be no doubt running amok within moments..." 

A harmony of groans reached their ears, followed by the unmistakable stench of a newly-fired Dungbomb. McGonagall's nostrils flared. "Go on to see Miss Ollivander." Her face softened. "Wish her a swift recovery from me." A nauseating wave of odor hit them again; McGonagall straightened and strode toward the D.A.D.A. classroom. 

Remembering Melissa, Beth turned away from the sight of McGonagall storming the classroom and hustled down the hall to the hospital wing. She had only been there a few times, once for a bee sting and once for a badly-botched Potions experiment. Fortunately, the hallway was bewitched to lead straight to the hospital wing if someone wanted to go there, and Beth arrived in a matter of minutes. 

Madame Pomfrey, the infirmary witch, had already broken Melissa's curse and was dabbing the girl's forehead with a damp towel, muttering about teachers who didn't keep a close enough watch on their students. Melissa looked pale and clearly frightened. 

"Are you all right?" Beth asked her friend timidly. The infirmary was white-walled and smelled of antiseptic potions, and made one want to speak more quietly. 

Melissa nodded weakly. "It doesn't hurt anymore. But I thought -- I didn't know --" she broke off, biting her lip. "Strange," she said, in a very odd tone. 

Beth nodded in agreement, but couldn't help noticing how subdued Melissa sounded: not at all like she usually did. "Well -- at least you don't have to go to class for the rest of today." 

"There aren't any more classes today," Melissa said glumly. "And now the whole class is going to think I'm pathetic and hysterical." 

"Of course they won't," Beth assured her, although she thought that Melissa _had_ looked pretty pathetic and hysterical at the time. 

Melissa didn't look convinced. "Want me to bring your books up?" Beth asked hastily. "You can start that Animagus paper, and we have to write a summary for Quirrell." 

"Oh, _bother_!" Melissa said crossly. "As if a curse isn't bad enough already. It's earned us extra homework!" 


	6. Professor Kettleburn

**Chapter Six: Professor Kettleburn**

Even though Melissa protested vehemently that she was cured, Madame Pomfrey made her stay overnight in the infirmary in case of a relapse. She rejoined Beth and Bruce at lunch, complaining about the cots in the hospital wing. 

"At least you're out," Beth said patiently. "You missed Charms and Potions. It's our first class with Kettleburn today. We can get a better look at his hand then." 

"Ever find out who did it?" Bruce asked through a mouthful of sausage and bagel. "The curse, I mean." 

Melissa shook her head, as if unwilling to talk about it. 

"Think we'll have to take our books to Kettleburn's class?" Aaron Pucey asked anxiously from across the table. "Mine's back in the common room." 

"In the common room?" Melissa laughed. "You weren't studying already -- were you?" 

"Needed a flat surface for Gobstones," Aaron confessed brightly. Gobstones was a wizard game with rules similar to that of marbles, except that these marbles squirted smelly liquid into the loser's face. 

"Look, his classroom's indoors," Bruce said, sounding disappointed. "I thought all of the Care of Magical Creatures classes were outside." 

"Maybe in a few days," Melissa said soothingly. 

They collected their books and headed down the hall. Bruce stumbled forward suddenly, as if he had tripped. He righted himself and whirled around angrily. 

"Pardon me, are you going our way?" a red-headed boy inquired in mock prissiness. His twin brother and their dreadlocked friend laughed beside him. 

"Eat pus and die," snarled Bruce, turning back around and strode away. 

The Weasley twins hurried to catch up to him. "Bletchley can't take a joke," one of them commented sadly. 

"Going to get him in trouble some day," the other one mourned. 

"Would you two shut up?" Melissa demanded. "Just for once." 

The boy with dreadlocks, Lee Jordon, stroked his chin. "What a welcome. And after I pined for them every day this summer." 

After three years, they had no problems finding Kettleburn's classroom; it was right next to the Charms room, and although no one had ever been inside, they had all seen the older students streaming in and out. Still bickering, the Slytherins and Gryffindors filtered into the classroom. 

Then they stopped dead in their tracks. 

The walls of Kettleburn's classroom were lined with shelves and glass-fronted cabinets, and there was a new wonder in every one. Enormous eggshells filled the walls -- some gray and rocky, some scarlet and gold, some shimmering opal. Horns, many broken and chipped, filled a whole bureau, and from the differences in size and shape it was obvious that they came from a vast variety of animals. A stuffed Augurey presided over one corner of the room, a Fwooper in another. 

"Quite a collection, eh?" a gruff voice barked. 

The class jumped. They had been so involved in the decorations that they had totally missed seeing the man at the front of the room. Murmuring incoherent answers, they took their seats without looking away from the walls. 

Beth was just as interested in Kettleburn as anything else in the room; after all, Mr. and Mrs. Scamander had quite a collection themselves. Professor Kettleburn was tall and broad-shouldered, and bald in a way that made him look mean. His clean-shaven face showed signs of stubble, and the way that he stood proved that he knew how to take and keep command. It looked like he was tightly clutching his wand -- but no, the rumors were true. His wand projected from a wooden cylinder strapped to his right wrist, in place of a hand. 

"_There it is_!" she hissed to Melissa. 

"All right, take your seats and settle down," said Kettleburn. His voice was as rough as his chin. "You'll see 'em all in time. We need to get started. I'm Professor Kettleburn, and this is Care of Magical Creatures for the third-years. Everybody in the right place?" 

Nervous laughter. 

"Good, we can get started. Fletcher!" he barked, and Mervin sat bolt-upright in his seat, eyes huge. "Ever heard of a Dugbog?" 

"N-no," Mervin stammered, preferring a quick answer to one that would save face. 

"Jordan!" Jordan trembled. "What's a Clabbert?" 

"Dunno." 

"Parson!" Beth jerked to attention. "Know what a hippogriff is?" 

"Half horse, half eagle," she blurted without thinking. 

Kettleburn slapped the desk heartily with his left hand. The class jumped again. "Now we're gettin' there," he growled approvingly. "When I get through wit' yeh, y'll know 'em all. But we'll start small. Everyone got your Tarantella?" 

The class gaped until they realized he meant their textbook, by Erasmus Tarantella. There was a rush to pull them out. Beth saw that Aaron still didn't have his, so she slid her Charms text over to him and hoped that Kettleburn wouldn't notice. 

He didn't. Kettleburn faced the blackboard. As the class watched, his wand shimmered and shrunk until it became a piece of chalk, still affixed to his arm. He scrawled an unintelligible word on the board, then turned around and slammed his hand down again. The chalk turned back to a wand. "_Billiwigs_." 

"Billy Wiggs is a Ravenclaw, sir," someone ventured. 

Kettleburn looked impressed. "Really? Well, I don't want him -- I want to talk about the animal. Billiwigs. Page, er, seventeen. Spinnet, read us a line or two." 

Alicia Spinnet, one of the Gryffindors, squirmed smugly. "'The billiwig, an Australian creature classified as an insect, secretes a type of venom which induces levitation in those whom it stings,'" she read off in an infuriatingly superior tone. "Radially symmetrical, its power of flight is derived from its ability to spin very quickly with outstretched wings. See Figure 2-13." 

Beth looked down at Figure 2-13. The moving sketch showed a billiwig in flight; the insect buzzed around inside the picture, spinning madly, bouncing against the margins. 

"Weasley, carry on." 

One of the Weasleys -- Beth had no idea which -- read almost two paragraphs aloud about how young wizards tried to catch billiwigs and induce them to sting. Beside him, Aaron stared at his Charms book and acted desperately like he was following along. The Weasley ended at Figure 2-14, which showed a young wizard in dungarees hovering cheerfully above the ground. 

"Ollivander, finish her off." 

Silence. 

"Ollivander!" 

Melissa sat staring at Kettleburn with trembling eyes, her lips tightly clamped. She shook her head tremulously and raised her shaking palms in a gesture of helplessness: _I can't_. Beth's mouth fell open. 

"She's cursed again!" she said aloud. Melissa nodded tearfully. 

Kettleburn strode over. "This happened before?" Nod. "Did Madame Pomfrey see you?" Nod. "Want to go see her again?" Vehement nods. "All right, get you gone. Don't stop to talk to anyone in the halls." 

Beth's classmates smothered their laughter. Melissa burst into tears and ran out the door. 

Kettleburn stroked his chin. "Well -- moving on --" 

"We're still having class?" called Aaron from the back. "Last time Quirrell let us out early." 

"Do I look like Professor Quirrell?" Kettleburn barked. There were various meek denials. "Ollivander can handle herself, and we need to get moving. Go on, Warrington, finish off the chapter." 

Warrington, a Slytherin, bent over his book in concentration. "While the ... billiwig ... is not a pest in the ... traditional ... sense ... the effects of its sting can be ... disorienting ... and in -- in --" 

"Inconvenient," Aaron Pucey hissed quietly. 

"Inconvenient. Anyone planning to travel to ... Australia ... should be tested for a possible ... allergy ... or risk ..." 

Warrington's laborious reading was hard to listen to. Beth let her eyes roam around the classroom. She knew everyone in the class pretty well by now, after two years of classes together and sharing a common room with half of them. Antigone Von Dervish, a haughty Slytherin girl, sat beside Aaron Pucey and tried to look fetching. Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, both Gryffindors who always sat together, rolled their eyes at Warrington's slow speech. Behind Warrington was Lee Jordan. He had a cigar box on his desk. As Beth watched idly, he opened it slowly and reached in, pulling out a fist-sized ball of fuzz with long, hairy legs. The legs twitched, and Beth realized with dawning horror that he held a large, black tarantula. Very carefully, Jordan leaned forward and placed the spider on the back of Warrington's robes, where it blended in almost perfectly. 

" ... permanent ... levitation," finished Warrington triumphantly. "See Figure two dash -- aah!" He leapt out of his chair, fingers scrabbling at the back of his neck. The tarantula flew across the room, where Angelina Johnson snagged it from the air and handed it discreetly to the Weasleys, who threw it into a similar box and sat there laughing at Warrington. Realizing that the danger was past, Warrington sat back down, scowling fiercely, and giving a little twitch every once in a while. 

Kettleburn stared at Warrington and stroked his stubbly chin suspiciously. "All right there?" Warrington grunted angrily. "Good. Let's all write an essay on billiwigs for next class, eh?" 

"If you say so," sighed Antigone languidly. 

There followed a discussion on why magical pest control was useful to learn, and a review of what they would be doing for the rest of the year. Melissa had been right; while it was mostly book work for a few weeks, the class would be meeting outside for most of the year. "Can't learn about animals without seein' 'em," Kettleburn reasoned gruffly, before the bell rang and he dismissed them from class. 

Bruce couldn't help commenting on the decorations as they poured out the door. 

"'Quite a collection', he says. That stuff's worth a fortune!" 

Beth laughed disbelievingly. "What, broken eggshells and old antlers?" 

"I mean it," Bruce said with a frown. "You can't just get dragon eggs at the corner market. Those are some powerful items -- and tip-top potion ingredients," he added slyly. 

"Potions ..." Beth grinned. "That's good to know, Bruce. Just in case." 

"Just in case of what?" Jordan grinned as he strode past. "In case you get cursed like your friend?" He and the Weasleys hurried on, holding the tarantula's box between them. 

Bruce clenched his fists. "Why do they put them with us every year?" 

"Never mind them. Let's check on Melissa." 

Melissa was, in fact, still in the infirmary and looking furious. 

"Someone's got a lot of nerve," she griped, as Madame Pomfrey took her pulse. "The worst is, I've got an inkling who it is, and can't tell you." 

"Who?" 

"Bruce, don't be an idiot. The question you're looking for is 'Why not?'" 

"Well?" 

"That's what triggered it, both times," Melissa said matter-of-factly. She paused to let Madame Pomfrey peer down her throat. "I was going to tell Bruce about what happened last time, and it went off. I think I handled it better, don't you?" 

"Definitely. Are you well enough to go study?" 

Melissa stretched out on the cot. "Shouldn't overexert myself, sorry. Besides, I'm getting used to this place. I think I'll live in the infirmary." 

"Think again, missy," said Madame Pomfrey. 


	7. The Midnight Meeting

**Chapter Seven: The Midnight Meeting**

Thursday! 

Between new classes and Melissa's series of curses. Beth had almost forgotten about the secret meeting at eleven thirty that night. Would anyone else be there? Who -- or what -- would she see when she got there? She answered her own question: The SSA, the enchanter or enchanters of the paper from the potato. That meant that Melissa, Mervin and Bruce would have all received the message -- if they were the same -- and that Richard Shaw had something to do with it. 

The day was passed in terse anticipation. Beth couldn't look at any of her classmates without wondering where they would be at midnight. She was so preoccupied that she could barely speak, and when she did, she found herself prattling on and laughing loudly at jokes that were generally not funny. 

By nine o'clock, she was so antsy that she staked out a chair in the common room so that she could watch the entrance and the others. Mervin did the same across from the room, she noticed. Bruce came by shortly thereafter, seeking help in Transfiguration. They studied for an hour and talked for another, covering topics from the amusing height of Professor Flitwick to why the Thunderbolt broomstick was never going to overtake the Nimbus series in sales volume. Melissa came back to the common room eventually. She looked flushed and excited, and Beth noticed that in between comments she would slip into a daydreamy half-smile. When Beth asked about it, Melissa claimed that she had been out practicing Charms. 

By eleven o'clock, the Slytherin common room had cleared out except for Bruce, Melissa, Mervin, and Beth. Mervin sat apart from the other three and kept giving them shifty looks. He was the sort of person who looked like he never believed what he was hearing. 

A half an hour passed slowly. Beth had just settled into one of the high-backed chairs, determined to fall asleep in the meantime, when she heard a voice behind her: 

"Well, Riggs, there they are." 

She opened her eyes and peered around the back of the chair. It was Richard, the boy across the table from her at the feast, and his fussy-looking friend Riggs. Riggs was carrying a large quill and looked extremely nervous, but Richard wore a broad grin. He came up to Beth's group and said quietly but excitedly, "Come on, you lot, we're making an excursion. Up and about!" He crossed the chamber and bent near Mervin, presumably to tell him the same thing. 

The six students gathered at the entrance. Richard smiled around at them. "All right. Once we get out there, stay close and don't make a sound. The last thing we need is Filch on our tails." 

"Where are we going?" demanded Mervin suspiciously. 

Richard only continued to smile. 

One by one they crept out of the common room and into the pitch-black hallway. Behind them, the door to the common room vanished into the wall as each student exited. Finally, they were all together, and Richard began to lead them through the castle halls. 

Beth felt her stomach tighten as they ventured further into the dark. She'd never broken curfew, and was convinced that Argus Filch, the caretaker, would pop out at them from around a corner and give them all expulsions -- or at least, detention. She'd heard all sorts of horrible stories about what students were made to do in detention. Furthermore, a group of six is difficult to keep quiet, and the constant rustling, squeaks and occasional hissed apologies did nothing to ease her nerves. 

They started down a corridor of classrooms when Richard pulled up suddenly in the front. Everyone ran into him from behind. "Shush!" he demanded in a low hiss. Beth cocked her ears. She heard a soft meow from not far ahead; Mrs. Norris, Filch's beloved cat. In the further distance, there were footfalls ... 

"Filch!" hissed Riggs. 

The company flattened against the wall. Around the corner, they could hear creaking footsteps and clanging keys: Argus Filch, the vindictive caretaker. Richard cast about carefully. "Into the classroom," he murmured almost imperceptibly, indicating the open door a few yards away. One by one, they slipped down the hall and into the darkened classroom. 

"Nasty Slytherins, off to kill someone?" an irritating voice cackled. Behind them, Peeves the poltergeist floated upside-down in the air. He had turned all of the desks and chairs wrong side up as well, so if you tilted your head it all looked relatively normal. "Gonna set Filch on you -- 'spect I get a reward --" 

"PEEVES IF YOU OPEN YOUR MOUTH DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE BARON WILL DO TO YOU!" Richard hissed loudly, before Peeves could continue. The poltergeist scowled. 

"Oh, s'you," Peeves muttered angrily. "Never any fun, you lot." He bobbed out of the classroom, the soles of his feet bouncing against the ceiling. 

A few tense seconds later, a very loud crashing noise sounded far down the hall. "We've got them now, Mrs. Norris," Filch could be heard muttering. His footsteps receded quickly, and the group was left in silence.Riggs, who had been looking like he desperately wanted to set all of the furniture upright again, went to the door and peered around. "Clear," he murmured, and everyone got up and followed him out into the castle again. 

Hogwarts had never felt more like a labyrinth. Beth was vaguely aware of passing a few familiar rooms, and once or twice a picture would wave at them in recognition. In the middle of a deathly-black hallway, Richard halted. The third-years flocked around him, bobbing up and down trying to catch a glimpse. All Beth could see was a lot of red hair. "Move, Mervin!" she hissed. 

"Shush," said Richard again. Silence fell. Then, in a startlingly loud voice, he enunciated: "Ouch! My toe!" in an unconvincing tone. 

His toe? Beth wondered. Before she had time for another thought, a pale light flickered in front of Richard. It grew into a line, which diverged downward until it had outlined a rectangle in the wall. 

Richard stepped forward and grabbed a shiny brass doorknob as it appeared on the wall with a "popping" noise. "Come on now, hurry up," he muttered, looking around anxiously. He shoved the door open and shepherded them in hurriedly; then he followed and slammed the door behind him. 

The room that appeared was brightly lit and thickly furnished with shag rugs, little couches, and bottles of all colors crammed onto shelves along the walls. Most notable, however, were the dozens of ceramic pots and cauldrons sitting about like halved Faberge eggs. Some shimmered with inlaid gold; others shone in warm ivory tones. Most were squattish, with wide mouths, but a few loomed almost to the ceiling. 

"The Vase Room," said Richard proudly. 


	8. The Vase Room

**Chapter Eight: The Vase Room**

All around the Vase Room, students read, lounged, and worked. They all seemed to be older than Beth, and they looked a lot smarter. A girl with long brown hair looked up at the group and smiled. "Daedalus, wake up, it's Rich with the newbies," she said, nudging a burly boy asleep on a nearby divan. Daedalus snorted and stirred. 

"Oh, h'llo," he murmured sleepily. 

Melissa was looking around in sheer awe. "Ooh, it's gorgeous," she breathed. 

"Yeah," Bruce seconded, gazing into the deep blue finish of the vase next to him. 

Mervin, the redhead, didn't seem to be especially taken by the furnishings. Instead, he eyed the boys and girls with deep suspicion. "Who are you people?" 

Richard smiled, both smug and excited. "You are about to join a secret club designed to bring glory to its members and the Slytherin House. We've won the House Cup innumerable times because of this organization. In our fifty-one year history, we've had one hundred and twenty-two excellent members. Our goal is to prove that the Slytherin ambition isn't a weakness, it's a strength, and we accomplish that by striving for excellence and collecting secrets. We are called the Society for Slytherin Advancement. Our motto is '_gloria serpens_': for the honor of the snake. I'll be serving as President this year." 

That's where the SSA came from, Beth thought. 

"What catch?" demanded Mervin. 

Richard shared a glance with Riggs. "Extra work," he admitted. "And a lifetime commitment to the members and the house. But I can promise that you'll gain far more than you give." 

Beth thought that sounded fishy, but she held her tongue. 

Riggs moved to the front of the small group. "Randall Riggs," he said, bowing quaintly at the third-years. "I serve as recorder for the S.S.A. If you'll follow me, we can get your names in the Ledger." 

The group of third-years followed Riggs across the room. In one corner stood a tall podium, like a preacher's pulpit, upon which lay a thick and decrepit book. Its cloth cover was tattered, and the pages were browned on the edge from age. Riggs went around to one side of it and opened the book carefully. 

"New entries," he said clearly. 

The pages of the book, thick with ink, started flipping themselves. Beth couldn't even imagine the information that was contained in so many of those pages, written in such tiny script. Every once in a while, a gust of air would come from one of the pages, making a little cloud of dust spout from the Ledger. The book shuddered and lay still when it came to a pair of blank pages, two-thirds from the beginning. 

Riggs adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses on his nose and picked up an enormous snowy-owl quill. "Let's see, we'll need names and ages from all of you. Alphabetical order, please." 

There was a pause as the four tried to sort themselves alphabetically. Bruce raised a timid hand. 

"S'me. Bletchley, Bruce Bletchley. Just turned fourteen." 

Riggs entered the information painstakingly. "Hmm, appears to be the first Bletchley in the records. Next?" 

Mervin looked like he was fending off a severe attack of disbelief. "Mervin Fletcher, thirteen," he said, almost painfully. 

"Third Fletcher in the Ledger," Riggs said blandly. He chuckled suddenly. "That rhymed. Next?" 

"Melissa Ollivander, thirteen," Melissa spoke up eagerly. "I'll bet this has connections with some of the greatest wizards of our time -- will we meet any former members, I mean, alumni?" 

"Later on," Richard said, looking pleased. "You'll never fail to tell a former Snake, that's for certain." 

"Next," Riggs broke in carelessly. "And that's the second Ollivander, if anyone is listening to me." 

No one was except for Beth. "Elizabeth Parson, thirteen," she said. 

"Excellent. Second Parson in the records." Riggs closed the book and clapped his hands satisfactorily. "Now -- the rings!" 

On the other side of the room, the girl with the long brown hair was nudging the burly boy again. "Daedalus, get up, they need the rings now." 

Daedalus snorted sleepily and sat up. Fumbling in the pocket of his cloak, he produced a small cardboard box. Richard went to him and beckoned for the new members to follow. 

"He's stayed up every night this week finishing them," the long-haired girl told Richard. Daedalus proved it with a long yawn. He opened the box and dumped the contents into his hand. 

Nothing came out. 

Neither Richard nor the long-haired girl seemed to notice that Daedalus had poured thin air into his palm. Instead, Richard said, "Go on, Vivian, give them out," in an excited tone. 

The long-haired girl reached into Daedalus' palm. Her fingers seemed to close on something, but no matter how hard Beth looked she couldn't make anything out. "Come here, give me your hand," Vivian said cheerfully to Melissa, who was closest. Melissa held it out warily. 

Vivian mimed putting a ring Melissa's on her third finger. Melissa's eyes widened suddenly. "Ooh," she said again, and looked hard at her own hand. "And you all --" 

"Here," Vivian said, and before she knew it, the long-haired girl had grabbed hold of Beth's hand and slid her fingers over it. 

As Beth watched, a pewter ring materialized on the third finger of her right hand. Its silver-colored surface was softly burnished. The band was plain, but a decorative crest at the top showed two intertwining snakes around a lighted wand. She looked over at Melissa -- she was wearing the same thing and gazing around as if she had been given whole new eyes. In fact, Beth realized, Vivian had a ring as well. So did Daedalus and Richard. And Mervin and Bruce -- 

Richard interrupted her thoughts. "Very complex charm," he announced proudly. "You can only see them if you're wearing them. Clever way to tell us apart, eh? Invented by our founder." 

"Who was that?" Melissa asked, eyes aglow. 

"Riddle, Tom Riddle," Richard replied. There was a note of reverence in his tone. "Incredible. Figured the whole thing out. He even did most of the work on the Ledger, our most valuable tool." 

Mervin glanced back at the Ledger suspiciously. "Why, what's it do?" 

Richard smiled knowingly, which infuriated Beth because he'd been doing it so much. "I'll show you." He went over to the Ledger, leaned over it, and said clearly, "Mervin Fletcher." 

The book sprung into action. Pages whirled. When they came to a rest, Richard ran his gaze over the words. "Aha! Here, see for yourself." 

All four of the new members peered at the text. It read: 

    Mervin Fletcher     Age: 13     Skills: Charms, excellent sense of color coordination, experience in pegasus raising     Current Location: The Vase Room, Hogwarts     Dislikes quiche deeply. Afraid of deep water. A fan of the Winbourne Wasps. Has a pet owl named Fortuna. Wand: Oak and unicorn mane, ten and a quarter inches. 

Mervin gaped at his profile. "How does it --" 

Richard frowned and shook his head. "Too complex for me, chappie. I haven't been able to unravel it yet, and I spent all last year on it. Riddle was a genius, as far as I can tell, and he's especially good at bewitching books. It's in his entry." Richard leaned forward again. 

"Tom Riddle." 

The pages swung over until they reached the R's. "Here you go," said Richard proudly. 

    Tom Riddle     Age: 65     Skills: Parselmouth, book charms, excellent leadership abilities     Current Location: Deceased     Former Prefect and Head Boy. Wand: Yew and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches. Closed the Chamber of Secrets. Raised in a Muggle orphanage. 

"Same make of wand as You-Know-Who," Melissa said under her breath. "My uncle stopped manufacturing the yew-and-phoenix type ten years ago." 

Bruce was still looking at Mervin with some measure of astonishment. "You like the Winbourne Wasps? You're crazy!" 

Mervin ignored him. "Chamber of Secrets?" he said quizzically. 

Richard waved away the question. "Another story for another year. We owe Riddle a huge debt in the creation of the S.S.A. He's responsible for what we've become -- and largely, for what we've got." 

"Did he create the Vase Room?" asked Melissa, looking around at the brilliant pottery. 

"We don't think so," Richard said with a shake of his head, "and unfortunately it's too late to ask him. Any more questions before we start the business meeting?" Across the room, Vivian rolled her eyes and nudged Daedalus on the shoulder, who had fallen asleep again. 

Beth thought of a question. "Does Dumbledore know about this?" 

Richard shrugged. "He's never stopped us." 

Riggs strode to the front of the room and cleared his throat. The S.S.A. members gathered around him, seated on cushions, vases, and the floor. "The first meeting of the new year of the S.S.A will now come to order. The reading of the minutes will be dispensed with. Is there any old business?" 

No one spoke. 

"New business?" 

Richard rose to his feet. "I'd like to welcome this year's new members: Melissa, Mervin, Bruce, and Beth," he announced, pointing out each person in turn. To the third-years, he said, "Let me make introductions. You know Riggs and I. These are Uther Montague, Vivian Sicklewise, and Daedalus Dellinger. Jerome Marx is also a member, but he can't attend for a few weeks since he has to look out for the firsties -- prefect this year. You'll know each other well by the end of the year." He turned back to the former members. "These students have a lot to offer. Bruce is an excellent Quidditch Keeper, and I'm sure he'll do the team proud. Even his classmates don't know this: Bruce speaks over twenty languages." 

Bruce flushed bright red. "How did you --" 

"We've spent two years spying on you chaps," Richard boasted. "Melissa is a top student. She also has another talent, which she shares with her uncle: a photographic memory." 

Melissa gasped, as if the revelation of her ability was embarrassing. 

"Mervin's lived on a farm his whole life. Not only is he a quick draw at the wand with strong magical instincts, but he's got a tremendous understanding of magical creatures." 

Mervin bit his lip. 

"Beth's game is Potions, and she's got the makings of an excellent alchemist. No one knows this but us and her, but she spent all of last year perfecting eyedrops that can make you see in the dark." 

The group murmured appreciatively. Beth felt like her deepest secrets had been uncovered: She was sure that no one had seen her mixing that potion in the dead of night, sometimes at her bedside dresser, sometimes at the fire in the common room. The only comfort was that the other three new members were equally exposed. 

"New members should be reminded that anything that is said in the Vase Room is strictly confidential," Richard continued. "It's a secret society and we intend to keep it so. Melissa found that out the hard way." 

Melissa's jaw dropped. "_You_ cursed me?" she practically screeched. "Of all the -- I _never_ --" 

"You were warned not to write or speak of it," Richard interrupted pointedly. "I couldn't have stopped it anyway -- the curse is automatic once it's set in place." 

Sulkily, Melissa crossed her arms but stopped arguing. 

Riggs cleared his throat again. "Two items from the start-of-term feast deserve attention," he announced fussily. "First, Headmaster Dumbledore's speech was odder than usual. To quote: 'Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!'" 

The older members murmured appreciatively. 

"I thought he was acting barmy just to impress the first-years," Bruce hissed in Beth's ear. She shrugged. 

"Everyone be thinking about the secret meaning in his words," Riggs continued. "Also: if the third-floor corridor is off limits, then it is certainly the job of the S.S.A to find out why. Next week we'll be preparing an expedition to have a look inside. We'll take volunteers then. Meanwhile, try to catch hints from the professors. They always know more than they tell, but they can't always keep a secret." 

"That reminds me," Vivian broke in suddenly. "I ran into Flitwick over the summer. He let it slide that there are plans for the Tri-Wizard tournament to be revived in a few years." 

There was a general murmur of interest. Looking impressed, Riggs nodded his assent. "Let's keep tabs on that, then. Specifically, who, where, and when." 

Beth followed his words only with vague comprehension. This was beginning to sound like a far more complex organization than it first seemed. 

"Daedalus, how's your project coming?" 

The burly boy squirmed uncomfortably. "Spent all summer doing research. I've only ever gotten halfway. It's going to be a long haul. Give me a few more months." 

"That's no problem," Richard interjected quickly. "It's bound to take a long time. Very complex, you know." 

Daedalus looked extremely frustrated just then. "I know." 

"What's he working on?" asked Melissa. 

"I'll let you know when I've finished," Daedalus said, flushing an unexpected red. 

"Quidditch trials are next week," Uther reported. "Marcus Flint is the captain again this year, he's a Chaser. Terry Higgs ought to be returning as Seeker, although we'll give anyone a try. Adrian Pucey's likely to get on as a Chaser, and I think I'll be returning as the same." He grinned in a way that was not at all humble. "We need a Keeper and both Beaters, since Shepp graduated and Ace Arendt transferred to Durmstrang." 

"I got a letter from his sister Gypsy," Vivian added. "She hates the weather but loves classes; they really learn about the Dark Arts up there, you know. They both promised to keep us updated on what's going on around there." 

"The Arendts were in the SSA," Richard said for the benefit of the newcomers. "Ace would've been in his last year, Gypsy was in my class. We usually take two members per year, but we could let all of you in since we needed to make up for them. It's an even ten." 

Mervin looked around at the other third-years as if wondering which of them would have been chosen if only two could have been selected. Beth, who was suddenly feeling very tired, found that she didn't care. 

Daedalus, too, was nodding off periodically. He jerked himself awake at another nudge from Vivian. "I move to adjourn," he said woozily. 

"Second," chipped in Uther. "Can't have us worn out to start class, eh?" 

Riggs looked at Richard, who shrugged. "All right then, meeting adjourned. We meet at this time every Thursday night. Attendance mandatory except in emergency." 

"And keep your eyes and ears open," Richard interjected enthusiastically. "Remember gloria serpens. We can and will learn the secrets of the castle. This is going to be an outstanding year in the Society's history. I can feel it." 


	9. Quidditch Trials

**Chapter Nine: Quidditch Trials**

"Aren't boys ridiculous?" 

Over a week had passed since the first meeting of the SSA. Finally learning the truth about the mysterious organization had calmed Beth down a lot, and Melissa wasn't getting cursed anymore since they were allowed to talk about it with other members. Bruce, on the other hand, was no better off. His big concerns were the Slytherin team Quidditch trials, taking place that very morning. 

"Look, Bruce didn't even eat anything," Melissa continued. Down the table, Bruce sat with Aaron, Mervin, and Warrington, all of whom looked nervous in different ways. No one met another's gaze -- traditional Slytherin ambition, Beth realized. They were so concerned with the fact that they would be competing against each other, that they could not recall that they were friends. 

"Boys are dumb," she agreed cheerfully. "Rule number one. The underlying truth of humanity." 

The incumbent members of the team didn't seem to be having the same problems. Uther downed six eggs on toast while chatting merrily with Terrence Higgs, Adrian Pucey, and Marcus Flint. Marcus and Terrence were exact opposites as far as looks went; Marcus was broad and strong, with a sincere but dull demeanor, while Terrence was short and skinny with oily black hair. It made him look untrustworthy. 

"How's this sound: Terrence back for the Seeker ... Warrington, Little Puce and Uther as Chasers ... Flint and Logres, Beaters ... and Bruce gets to be Keeper," Beth suggested, looking critically at the group of boys at the end of the table. 

"No, Adrian's coming back as a chaser," Melissa disagreed. "Aaron can be a Beater. He likes hitting things." 

Aaron was drumming on the table with his fork. 

"But definitely Flint as a Beater." 

"If he's smart. He's the biggest guy we have." 

Marcus Flint was the captain of the Quidditch team that year; when he stood up and started out the door, the whole entourage of hopeful players went with him. So did a few dozen spectators, Beth and Melissa included. They tracked across the Hogwarts grounds to the Quidditch fields, the players silent, the others chattering excitedly and making bets over who would make up the team that year. 

"Not everyone tests their players like we do," Melissa bragged on the way, as if she knew any more about how the Quidditch team operated than Beth. "That's why we're on a streak. We make sure we've got the best players, not just the ones who ask first." 

"About time, too," Beth noted. "The first match is right after the Halloween feast." 

"Gryffindor," added a sixth-year girl excitedly. "But they lost their Seeker and half their players, so it should be a lock." 

Melissa snorted. 

The crowd parted at the playing field; the competing players milled around on the sidelines, while their friends filled in the bleachers on one side. On the field, the players nervously clutched their brooms or engaged in last-minute conversations with their friends. 

"Good luck, Uther!" Antigone cried sweetly. 

Melissa cupped her hands around her mouth. "Bruce Bletchley, you rock my world!" 

Beth could see a nervous grin break out over Bruce's face even from the stands. 

"Quidditch stinks, Quodpot rules!" Beth called in cheerful belligerence. 

Several of the guys booed their disagreement or waved dismissingly in her direction. "You and me, Parson," Uther threatened casually, and a nearby pair of girls looked so jealous that he had spoken to someone else that Beth blushed furiously under her smile. 

Marcus called the competitors together into a huddle; after a few moments, they spread out onto the field and mounted their broomsticks. Bruce grasped his with determination, but the fierceness in his gaze was nothing like the ambition that contorted Aaron Pucey's face. 

Marcus blew into a whistle and raised one hand into the air. Beth caught a glimpse of gold through his fingers. 

"All right, everyone up-" Twelve broomsticks shot into the air. "Aaand ... _go_!" 

Marcus hurled the Snitch into the middle of the field. The spectators started cheering for their friends. Beth lost sight of it almost at once, between its speed and size and the fact that she was shrieking Bruce's name pretty emphatically. 

The contestants soared around the field, some in confusion, some in desperation, and one or two with real purpose. It was close; just as Aaron Pucey started in on a ten-foot dive with his arm outstretched, Terrence Higgs popped out a hand and, with a grunt, snagged the Snitch securely. He raised his fist into the sky and crowed in exuberance. The other players sank to the ground, looking disappointed. Aaron's face was a mask of devastation. 

"So close," Beth could see him saying to his brother Adrian. The older one said something back and gave him a reassuring nod. 

"Told you Terrence was going to get Seeker again," Beth murmured to Melissa. 

"Yeah, but there's no way Logres is going to get Beater," she sniffed in reply. 

The Seeker was the only position that could be decided on so easily. To choose Beaters, Marcus split them up into groups of six, armed them all with clubs, and let loose a couple of Bludgers. The balls zoomed around the air, arbitrarily attacking the players, who had to keep fending them off and sending them toward the other group. 

Melissa was on the edge of her seat, narrating as if she were the only person there with eyes. "Ouch, there goes Terrence ... well, he's got a spot anyway ... oh no, look, two of them are going for Logres -- that had to _hurt_!" Logres landed on the ground with a black eye and a disgusted look on his face. "Wow, he hung on longer than I -- wait -- poor Mervin!" Mervin Fletcher was pelted in the back of the head and made a near-miss landing. 

Adrian Pucey and Bruce went out at about the same time. Three or so other upperclassmen followed. 

"Aaron, Warrington, and Bole," Melissa almost shouted. "Look at that!" 

"I can see it as well as you," Beth shouted back, too excited to be truly cranky. "Hang in there, Puce!" 

Now the contest had degraded to a duke-out between the three contestants. The Bludgers hurled back and forth between them as each boy struggled to knock them into someone else. 

"The next one to get hit, loses," chirped Melissa, leaning forward. 

"Mel, I _know_!" 

Warrington beat off both Bludgers at once, sending them in different directions. Aaron dove and sent one to Bole. He flung back his arm to pelt the other one, misjudged by an inch, and hit it with his wrist as hard as he could. The club flew out of his hand. 

"Oh no!" Beth cried. 

Aaron launched into a dive after his club. Behind him, Bole warded off the Bludger and sent it streaming toward Aaron. 

The impact was loud. Aaron whirled around in a circle, gripping his broomstick in terror, and sank to earth still spinning. Marcus blew his whistle and froze the Bludgers with a few hasty charms. 

"The Beaters are Warrington and Bole!" he hollered. Their friends in the stands cheered wildly. 

Aaron stalked off the field, holding his wrist tightly, with his broomstick under one arm. His mouth was twisted in frustration. The other competitors gave him a wide berth as he joined their ranks, scowling and rubbing his wrist between two fingers. Adrian Pucey leaned over to tell him something; Aaron jerked away. 

Marcus blew his whistle again, and they lined up for the Keeper trials. Bruce looked especially drawn; even from the stands, Beth could tell that he kept licking his lips nervously and griping his Comet tighter and tighter. 

Since Marcus was the captain, he had the right to give himself the position of Chaser, and did as much right then. "So I'll be trying to get by you, and you keep me out," he barked. "Three tries apiece. One at a time. Ready?" 

Warrington swooped into position in front of the three goals. Marcus grabbed a Quaffle and soared onto the field for the first time that day. Despite his bulk, he truly flew elegantly. His first pass at Warrington was an easy one, making it obvious where he would try to score. Warrington stopped him effortlessly. 

Out of the first round, only Terrence, Bole, and Mervin Fletcher were eliminated, and the first two didn't even care. "Terrence is terrible at everything except being Seeker," a seventh-year girl confided to Melissa. "Good thing he has at least one skill. His O.W.L.s were pathetic." 

"They can't be as bad as Marcus's," Vivian interjected from behind. "Poor fellow only got five or six. If he doesn't get on with a team, I'm not sure what he'll do." 

"Anyone who'd turn down Marcus would be crazy," Melissa said staunchly. "He's the best thing to happen to Quidditch at Hogwarts since that one Weasley." 

"Charlie," the seventh-year sneered. Charlie Weasley had practically handed the Quidditch cup to Gryffindor five or six years in a row. No one was more relieved to see him graduate than the second-ranked Slytherins. 

"Hey, they're on the third round," Beth exclaimed. Aaron, Bruce, Logres, and a tall second-year remained. 

"Come on, Derrick, hang in there!" one of his classmates cried. 

The air was filled with encouraging cheers. "You can do it, Bruce!" Beth and Melissa screamed almost in unison. 

The second-year went first, hovering into position and leaning forward slightly on his broom. Marcus advanced slowly at first, picking up speed as he came -- he shot upward and twisted to the left; the second-year followed. Instantly, Marcus dove back down and came in on the right, hurling the Quaffle through the far hoop. 

The second-year floated back down in defeat. "That's okay, Derrick," his supporter called. He gave her a halfhearted thumbs-up as he trudged off the field. 

Logres, a bulky and pockmarked boy in his sixth year, took his turn and fell for the exact same trick. "Come to think of it, he's not too bright either," Vivian mentioned, with no special malice. "But he tries out every year. You can't fault him for not trying." 

"Aaron's up," Melissa said. 

Aaron Pucey hovered in front of the goal posts, glaring at Marcus like he had just made a new enemy. He held one hand ready at his side, the other choked up on his broomstick for quick maneuvers. Beth thought that if she was in Marcus's place, she'd give him the job based on his fierce expression alone. 

Marcus started out the same way; a building entrance and a feint upward. Instead of following him, though, Aaron hung back and traced his motion toward the goals. Marcus continued to climb farther into the air, not even coming any closer. Finally Aaron pointed his broomstick upward and drew a little closer. Marcus turned to the right and started in on his dive. Aaron zoomed in front of him and lunged for the Quaffle. In a moment, Marcus clutched his broom and the ball and executed a flawless barrel roll. He shot under Aaron and came out behind him. Still upside-down, he launched the ball into the central goal for a ten-point score. 

Aaron let out a grunt and landed near the group of competitors, who looked like they were telling him that he did a good job. He shrugged and gave Bruce a dirty look. Luckily Bruce never noticed, since he was already soaring onto the field. 

"If Bruce doesn't block this, Aaron's likely to get the position," said Melissa, leaning forward in anticipation. 

"I _know_ how it works already!" 

Marcus started advancing on Bruce, the Quaffle secured in one arm. Bruce wove back and forth, following his every move. When Marcus swept upward and started to climb, Bruce dogged him like a leech. 

"Oh no, that's what the other two did!" Melissa cried in dismay. 

Clutching the Quaffle, Marcus feinted left and jerked away. Bruce followed him to the right and swooped between him and the goal. Marcus backed up and lurched downward. Bruce retreated into the goal zone, staying in front of Marcus with one hand ready. The team captain pulled up and swept to the left, cruising for the far hoop. Bruce tailed him and pulled ahead -- screeched to a halt in midair, just as Marcus hurled at him -- Marcus veered off, but Bruce was there -- he narrowly missed Marcus's startled face ... and the Quaffle fell to the earth. 

Bruce snagged the Quaffle and landed with it in his arm, beaming proudly. Marcus landed with an equally joyous expression on his face. "Bletchley, Keeper!" he announced. 

"Yeah, Bruce!" Beth shrieked, pounding her feet. 

"Well done you!" Melissa crowed. 

Marcus blew his whistle again. He seemed to be enjoying his power as captain. The players drew together in a huddle. Bruce, Warrington, and the rest of the selected team members hung around at the fringes; Beth noticed that they already clumped together as if they had an instant bond between them. _Like the SSA_, she thought. _The Quidditch team is a secret society all its own_. 

Terrence and Bole, apparently happy with their assignments, didn't even try out for the position of Chaser. The rest of the hopefuls swarmed onto the field en masse. Marcus whistled at Bruce, who took his place in front of the goals, looking thrilled to death. 

The job of the Chaser on a Quidditch team is to use the bright red Quaffle to score goals through three fifty-foot-high vertical hoops. For a while, Marcus had everyone hurling a bunch of Quaffles back and forth. Then he executed a few drills, watching them catch, throw, and maneuver with the ball in their arms. He paid close attention to how everyone was doing. Eventually, he split them up into groups of three and had them try to sink goals past Bruce. 

"After all, the Chasers work together closely," Vivian observed reasonably. "You can't choose them like you do the Seeker. He works alone." 

As if to back up her statement, Terrence Higgs stood by himself, watching the Chaser trials critically. 

In front of the goals, Bruce seemed to be having the time of his life. Over and over, he dove, twisted, and rose in midair to keep the Quaffle out of the goal zone. "I didn't think he was _that_ good," Beth breathed in disbelief. 

As she spoke, Uther managed to slip past him and score in the right-hand hoop. He raised his arms in a victory sign. 

"He'll get back on the team," Melissa analyzed. "Him and one of the Puceys, probably. Warrington's not bad, but he has his position." 

"Speak of the Puceys -- Aaron's got the ball!" 

Aaron Pucey zoomed toward the goals like a man on fire. Clutching the Quaffle in one arm and clinging to his broom in the other, he zigzagged up to Bruce and dove just as they were about to crash. 

Bruce dogged him from behind, urging his Comet to overtake Aaron. He pulled up suddenly and swept across Aaron's path with barely a few inches to spare. 

The sudden proximity of the Keeper startled Aaron into letting his hand fly off of the broom handle. He lurched to the right., lost his sense of position, and tilted a little. He teetered over the side of his broom for a few fearful seconds, grasping at thin air; then he lost his balance completely and fell fifteen feet to earth, hands outstretched. 

The crowd let out a startled gasp. Some of the spectators climbed down from the bleachers and ran down to the field to get a better look. Beth and Melissa followed worriedly. 

Aaron moved slightly and let out a moan. He clutched his wrist, grimacing. His brother and Marcus Flint hurried to his side; after a few tense minutes, they helped him stand up shakily. 

Adrian Pucey forced his brother's fingers away from the injured hand and looked it over critically. "That's bad, Aaron. This needs to be looked at. No Quidditch for you this year. Come on, let's go to the infirmary." 

"No," Aaron gasped, his eyes starting to fill with furious tears. "I'm fine." 

"No, you're not," his brother retorted. "We're going to see Pomfrey if I have to stupefy you and _carry_ you." 

"I'm telling you I'm -- _aah_!" He suddenly let out a howl of pain. 

"Come on," Adrian insisted. He put an arm around his brother's shaking shoulders. They left their broomsticks behind on the field. 

Bruce watched them go, guilt all over his face. "I didn't mean to knock him off," he said lamely, to no one in particular. 

Marcus came up behind him. "If someone tries that in a game, do the exact same thing," he ordered. "You _want_ to put the enemy out of the game. Remember?" 

"Yeah," Bruce said faintly, eyes fixed on the slowly-moving pair of brothers. "The enemy." 


	10. Warrington's Outrage

**Chapter Ten: Warrington's Outrage**

Aaron Pucey was released from the infirmary by the next day, looking more injured psychologically than physically. His wrist was in a splint, and his first two fingers were tightly bound between stiff boards. 

"Two broken fingers and my wrist is sprained," he told them glumly, as the third-year boys eagerly assessed the relative coolness of his medical equipment. "Pomfrey says I might never have the grip to be a Seeker. I wanted her to speed up the healing, but she said she couldn't, she had to save that potion for '_serious emergencies_." Here he called Madame Pomfrey a word that made Melissa look around to see if any teachers were listening. "Six to eight weeks. More on the fingers, maybe." 

Warrington and Bruce looked sympathetic, but Beth noticed that they didn't seem to be meeting Aaron's eye when they said so. Uther Montague, Adrian Pucey, and Marcus Flint had been selected as Chasers, giving them a full complement of returning players in that position. 

The teachers must have known when the Quidditch trials were over, because they really started piling on the assignments afterward. McGonagall was in fine form by the beginning of October, requiring a summary of the readings every class period, and everyone grew bitter when Flitwick enchanted his classroom door to open only upon the successful completion of a prescribed charm. The charm changed every week. Warrington was disconsolate. 

"Of all the pansy classes!" he bellowed on the way from Charms to Potions one day. "Why would I want to get in and learn how to do some wimpy charm anyway?" 

They had been forced to make flowers sprout from their wands that day, and Warrington considered it a personal affront. 

"I think I could break Flitwick if I breathed on him." Warrington continued griping as they filed into the dank Potions dungeon and started mixing a brew that would painlessly dissolve ingrown toenails. "Dumb teacher. Who needs a stupid cheering charm." 

"Certainly not you," Melissa intoned with a straight face. Beth sniggered. 

A pair of Gryffindor girls, assuming they were being made fun of, sniffed superiorly and turned their backs to the Slytherin side of the classroom. 

Melissa and Beth worked together, as usual. That meant that Beth got most of the disgusting jobs, like disemboweling earthworms and picking apart bubotubers, but she never really minded. 

"I can't believe Bruce made the team!" Melissa bubbled, as Beth plucked feathers from a dead rooster. "That's two in our year, and we've never had anyone before. Quidditch is great, but it's more exciting when you know some of the players -- don't you think?" 

"Sure," Beth grunted, pulling loose a handful of tailfeathers. 

"The Gryffindors are almost all new," Melissa continued, with something of a gloat. "The rumor is that they got some firstie to be their Seeker!" 

Both of them snorted. "Well, they're not supposed to be the smart peoples' house," Beth smirked. 

Melissa snickered and stole a glance at the other side of the room, where the Weasley twins were huddled over their scarred and battered cauldron. "That's not the worst of it. Wood's back as Keeper, but all of their Chasers are only third-years, and they're all girls. And guess who the Beaters are." 

"The dorky kid who ran away with the hat at the Sorting Ceremony?" Beth suggested evilly. 

"The _Weasleys_!" 

There was a sudden popping noise, and a pink puffpod erupted from Warrington's cauldron. It rose four feet in the air and bobbed there lazily as blooms sprouted all along its length. Warrington stared at it dumbly for a few seconds, then whirled to glare at the Weasleys, who were doubled over with laughter. "Professor!" he bellowed, fists clenched. "The Gryffindors -- the _Weasleys_ --" The puffpod showered pink petals onto Warrington's head. The Gryffindors shrieked with laughter. 

Professor Snape stalked over, wand clutched in one hand. "I don't think I have to guess who's responsible for this," he said in a dangerously soft voice, biting off each word. "That's twenty points from Gryffindor. Weasley, trade cauldrons with Warrington for the rest of the class." 

The Weasley twins gawped at each other. "That's not fair!" Spinnet cried. Professor Snape turned on her. 

"And another ten for criticizing my teaching method," he hissed softly. "Does anyone else wish to comment?" 

The Gryffindors stared at him sullenly. 

"Good." Professor Snape strode back to the front of the room and resumed the lesson, while Warrington triumphantly snatched the Weasleys' battered cauldron. 

Near the end of the class, Snape cleared his throat. 

"The first trip to the village of Hogsmeade has been scheduled for the Saturday after next." Excited buzzing filled the room. "As the head of your House, I will be accepting permission forms from the Slytherins until the day of the trip." He scowled at the Gryffindors, giving the Weasley twins a special glare. "Everyone else should turn in their forms to their respective heads of House. As unworthy as they may be to actually attend." 

The Slytherins giggled; the Weasley twins gaped at Professor Snape in wordless outrage. Johnson looked as if she wanted to say something and was making a great effort to hold it back. 

"Class is dismissed." 

The Gryffindors practically rocketed out of the dungeon, clamoring about recent injustices. A handful of Slytherins stayed behind to help clean up. 

"They must have stolen that puffpod seed from Sprout," Beth said, on her hands and knees beneath Warrington's desk. She stood with a pile of pink petals in one hand and tossed them in the garbage. 

"Ugh, there's beetle's eyes all the way over here!" Melissa exclaimed from a far corner. 

Professor Snape granted them a thin-lipped smile. "I may live for a century more and never comprehend how the Gryffindors manage to make such a mess in such a short span of time." 

Melissa snorted derisively, bringing the beetles' eyes to the trash can in the front of the room. "You should see their common --" 

She broke off and flushed a deep red. 

"-- their common book-covers and knapsacks," she finished, stammering. "Battered and such. Awful how they treat them." 

She gathered her cauldron in her arms and rushed out the door. 

"What's wrong with her?" demanded Bruce. 

Beth shrugged. "Didn't mention. Come on, it's lunchtime." 

***

Having lunch after Potions was possibly the worst scheduling job in the school's history. After two hours of straining the fat from dead badgers' paws, Beth was in no mood for shepherd's pie. She watched Bruce devour his own with slight disgust. Across the table, the other third-years chattered excitedly about the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. 

"Adrian's told me all about it," bragged Aaron Pucey. "There's a joke shop with exploding quills, wands that catch fire and fake chocolate frogs that blow up in your face --" 

Beth caught an unpleasant glimpse into Aaron's childhood. 

"There's supposed to be one of the biggest candy stores in England," added Mervin Fletcher, looking enthused for one of the first times in his life. 

"I thought that was Willy Wonka's," said Beth dryly. 

She was met with blank stares. 

"Er -- never mind." 

"I want to see the Shrieking Shack," Warrington interjected in a gravelly voice. Beth noticed that his deep voice was cracking less and less often these days. In fact, he was shaping up to be a pretty muscular fellow all the way around, if his success as a Beater was any indication. 

"The what now?" 

"Shrieking Shack. Most haunted house in Europe -- I think that's an overestimation though. Hasn't been a good howl for ten-odd years." Riggs finished his dissertation and buried his nose back in the _Daily Prophet_. 

Beth hadn't even noticed that he was sitting nearby. "A haunted house, that sounds fun. Never seen one of those." 

Bruce started to laugh and choked on his shepherd's pie. "Beth, you live in a _haunted castle_," he blurted, coughing and laughing at the same time. Warrington beat him on the back a few times. 

Beth scowled. "Oh, shut it." 

Breaking in with a smile, Aaron chirped, "Hey Beth, how many Ravenclaws does it take to light up a wand?" 

Beth grinned despite herself. "How many?" 

"Just one, he spent all term studying it, aren't Ravenclaws the _cleverest_?" 

The Slytherins busted up laughing. Some passing Hufflepuffs gave them a suspicious look. That made them laugh harder. 

"Yeah, beware, we're plotting how to kill you all!" Aaron called after them, wiping away tears of mirth. 

"Pass me the poison," Warrington boomed. 

Only Riggs was unmoved. "They've never trusted us, and they never will," he murmured prophetically, staring down at the newspaper. His voice was so quiet that no one but Beth caught his words. "There should be a society for Slytherin _acceptance_." 


	11. Hogsmeade Village

**Chapter Eleven: Hogsmeade Village**

The weekend began cool and sunny: a perfect autumn day for the third-years' first trip to Hogsmeade! 

Beth's class buzzed with excitement at breakfast, as they and the upperclassmen were herded outside to where the fleet of horseless carriages stood, and the whole trip down. Beth, Melissa, and Bruce snagged a carriage for the three of them, but a misplaced girl from Hufflepuff joined them on the orders of Professor Sprout, her head of house. She looked none too comfortable with the nearness of the Slytherins and alternated between gazing at the passing terrain and giving Bruce shifty looks. 

When the coaches ground to a halt, waves of students poured out, laughing, skipping, amid anxiously hollered instructions from the faculty on when to be back and how not to act. Beth felt a jostle from behind. 

"Come on, Zonko's is this way, down a block from Honeydukes," one of the Weasleys chattered excitedly to Johnson and Jordan. The four pushed past without a look back. 

"How would they know?" Bruce demanded, while Melissa sniffed, "We're going the other way, then." 

The other way turned out to lead toward the Three Broomsticks: "Headquarters of the 1612 Goblin Rebellion: General Gistygist slept here" proclaimed a bronze plaque on the side of the building. Cheerful sounds came from the warmly lit windows. 

"Oy, Bruce! We're off to the Shrieking Shack." 

It was the Quidditch team, joshing around with each other and looking, suddenly, strikingly masculine. Bruce cast a tortured glance at Beth and Melissa, then at the team and back again. 

"Minute," he called to them. He turned back, biting his lip. "Listen, I'm sorry, I think I ought to go with the team ... bonding, y'know ..." 

"Er -- we'll see you later then," Beth said, surprised. 

Melissa, with her arms crossed, made no such statement of goodwill. 

Bruce went off with the team, without a glance back. He really looked like part of the group, from Beth's point of view. As soon as he was out of earshot, Melissa let out a shriek of frustration. 

"Abandoning us now! Who does he think he is? And with those -- Quidheads -- " she sputtered for a minute, unable to form words. 

"Come on, forget him," Beth said soothingly, directing her friend across the street to the tavern. "We can have fun ourselves, and we know plenty of people. He's the one missing out. I'll buy you a butterbeer, Aaron says that's their specialty." Melissa gave a final _humph_ before entering the tavern of her own accord, with Beth close at hand. 

The Three Broomsticks was a warm, crowded place which made Beth think of Christmastime. Witches and wizards from the town mingled and laughed, while Hogwarts students sat around the circular wooden tables with mugs of hot, rich butterbeer. Melissa saved two seats at a table with some of her friends from Ancient Runes while Beth stood in line at the bar. 

"Can I help you, sweetie?" chirped the round and rosy barmaid, Madame Rosmerta. 

"Two butterbeers," Beth said hastily, pulling a few Galleons out of her pocket. 

Madame Rosmerta filled two steins with the thick drink and placed them back on the counter. She bent down to make change, smiling at Beth. "Now you're a familiar face. Got an older sister at Hogwarts, do you?" 

"My brothers went to Hogwarts," Beth supplied awkwardly. "Chris and Lycaeon Parson." 

Rosmerta creased her brow in thought. "Parson .... Oh-!" Her brow cleared and a new expression came over her face. Surprise? Sadness? Wariness? "Yes, I knew them when they were just in school ... before ... A long time ago, wasn't it? I was so surprised to hear ..." 

She looked as if she wanted to say something else but changed her mind. She gave Beth a smile. "Well, it's good to meet you, Miss Parson. Here you go." She pushed the two mugs across the counter. 

"Just Beth," she corrected, taking the two steins in her arms. "Thanks." 

"Of course, dear." 

Winding through the crowded tavern with her hands full wasn't easy, but Beth soon found Melissa's table. She was surrounded by two Hufflepuffs and a Ravenclaw. They were involved in an impressive-sounding conversation about the class that they had together, Ancient Runes. 

"No, no. Delta, kappa, _lambda_, mu," Melissa said argumentatively to one of the Hufflepuffs. 

"I'm telling you, there's an iota in there," the Hufflepuff argued back. 

Beth wasn't in that class, so she tuned out the conversation and focused instead on enjoying the warm, friendly atmosphere. This wasn't a place where fights regularly broke out, she thought. This was a place where friends gathered to laugh and talk. Where the homeless could feel at home. Where the motherless could feel like they had a whole family. 

That last thought was an uncomfortable one, so Beth thrust it away. She slipped into a sleepy daydream about a book she had read once about a Muggle girl in college. The Muggle had all kinds of adventures at this fascinating university, with interesting people and little surprises every day. It might be a fun idea to write about some other Muggles in college, she thought. That would make it seem almost like she was one. 

"Lycaeon. Remember?" 

The words came from far across the room, but struck Beth's ear like the speaker was up close. Someone had known her brother, it seemed. She sat up, alert. 

"Chris too, his older brother. And their mother. She married that Muggle, you remember, Bill Parson?" 

Beth looked around. Madame Rosmerta leaned over the counter, in conversation with an athletic-looking man in his early thirties. Apparently she was telling him about meeting Lycaeon's little sister. 

"Course. How could I forget? I played on the Quidditch team with Lycaeon -- Luke, you know. He was a bloody good Keeper. Can't believe where he ended up." 

"And Chris. So neat and polite. I had quite the crush on him, back in the day," Rosemerta confided to the athletic man. 

So, they had been friends of her brothers. For a moment, Beth wanted to go over and meet them -- see if they had anything to add to her tiny collection of knowledge. How had they acted? Who did they know? Was Lycaeon as good at Quidditch as they say he was? Did Chris really get all those OWLS? 

"I never would have thought, though. I should have watched closer, you know, after their mother went that way." 

Beth strained to hear. 

"When did you last see him?" 

A group of young wizards playing cards at a nearby table began roaring in lusty humor as one of them won the game. Beth almost fell out of her seat leaning toward Rosmerta's conversation, trying to pick up remnants over the good humor. 

"... looked so old." 

"Amazing," breathed Rosmerta. 

"Beth? Beth?" 

Beth looked around in surprise. Melissa was nudging her shoulder with a concerned look on her face. "Are you all right? We were saying we thought we'd head up to Honeyduke's. Want to come?" 

"Sure, sure." Beth felt her face flush. "Sorry." 

They made their way through the crowds of patrons and down the road to Honeyduke's candy store. Beth had to admit that it rivaled everything she'd ever heard about Willy Wonka's. Some of the items catered toward more bizarre tastes -- a whole display dedicated to blood-flavored candies loomed in one corner -- but most of the other walls were stuffed with rich chocolate, smooth fudge, bright colors and shiny wrappers. Some of them promised magical properties, like the Fizzing Whizbees that made you float; others, like the spun-sugar quills, were worthwhile no matter what else they did. 

"You can't get Honeydukes chocolate anywhere but here," Melissa babbled excitedly, loading up on thick bars of chocolate. 

"Or cockroach clusters," said Beth, eyeing some of the more exotic items. 

"Really, they're not bad. You need to try one." She grabbed one and added it to her pile. "And get some sugar quills." 

"Do they do anything weird?" 

"Not a thing. I swear." 

"Then I don't believe you." 

Regardless, Beth walked out of Honeydukes with a whole bag of sugar quills and another of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Melissa had a big parcel of chocolate and the cockroach cluster, which Beth promised to eat later when no one else was watching. 

"Which way to the Shrieking Shack?" Beth asked, nibbling the end of a quill. 

Melissa's demeanor darkened. "Ask Bletchley. He'd know." 

"Don't still be mad at him. Remember the cardinal rule?" 

"Boys are dumb." 

"That's the one." 

They strolled around until they met up with Mervin Fletcher, who pointed out the way to the Shrieking Shack. Mervin, it seemed, had spent the whole trip trying to get as close as he could without getting caught. 

"Goblin guards," he said giddily. "Can't get closer than ten feet, so you have to stay around the perimeter. Loads of fun. Almost like trying to dupe the Hufflepuffs." 

"Sure ... we'll try it ..." Beth promised, giving him a weird look. 

The Shack stood out a distance from town; the main street changed into a winding dirt road that led around the house but not actually up to it. One or two clusters of wizards, mostly Hogwarts students, picnicked on the overgrown lawn. Beth and Melissa wandered around on the grass, looking for a place to sit that wasn't too muddy or lumpy. 

"Afternoon, girls." 

Beth leapt a foot in the air. "Where did you come from?" she panted at Vivian, who had suddenly appeared just a few inches in front of her. 

"Over there." She pointed to where Richard and Daedalus stood chatting on the grass. Without warning, she disappeared again and rejoined the two older boys. 

Melissa shrugged at Beth, and the two of them strolled over to join the three. 

Richard looked like someone had handed him a sack of Galleons. "Seen Vivian apparating, did you?" he beamed. They nodded. "She's a pro. Gloria serpens!" he exclaimed happily. 

Vivian pretended to swoon. "Methinks the lord flattereth too much." She vanished momentarily, moving in an instant to the other side of the small group. 

"Looks tricky," said Beth. 

"Very," Vivian agreed, disappearing with a *pop* and reappearing two feet to the left. 

"Isn't that illegal without a license?" Melissa grinned. 

"Definitely." Vivian popped away and landed near Richard, who patted her shoulder encouragingly. 

"No one would ever learn if they didn't practice before they were legal," Daedalus said in a reasonable tone. "And as long as you don't splinch, no one ever has to know." 

"Splinch?" 

"Leave a body part behind." 

"Oh." 

"It's dangerous," Vivian agreed. "You get nauseated the first few times." She popped away from Richard and reappeared beside Daedalus. She poked his side playfully. "And once, I left behind the soles of both shoes. Try explaining to your parents why you have to wear your boots around in the summertime." 

"At least it wasn't your feet," said Daedalus. 

"Too true." 

They turned toward the unexpected voice; Daedalus' face lit up. "Jerry, I thought you'd be home with the firsties!" he exclaimed, shaking hands enthusiastically with the tall boy that had joined them. 

"So did Snape," said Jerome Marx, with an easy grin. "I set them up on an all-day chess tournament and put Evan Wilkes in charge. They'll never miss me." 

Vivian threw an arm around Jerome's shoulders. "You hope. Which passageway did you use?" 

"The one behind Dame Edna Hag the Single-Orbed," Jerry enunciated quirkily. He spotted Beth and Melissa. "D'you know that one of ours built that tunnel? Orville Dissendell. That had to have been thirty or forty years ago." 

Beth noticed the SSA ring on his hand for the first time. 

"Reminds me why I came over." Jerome dropped his voice and the little group drew into a closer huddle. "The Halloween feast. If there's one time you can count on everyone to be out of the corridors and out of the way, it's then. We've got to make that third-floor-corridor excursion soon, and that would be the perfect time." 

Richard looked impressed. "Excellent! Are you going to be in on this one?" 

Jerome frowned slightly. "Can't, got to protect the firsties from the bats in the Great Hall." 

"Oh, let me do it, Rich!" said Vivian excitedly. "They'll never miss me. In fact, let's make it a girls' night out. What do you say?" 

Beth realized that Vivian was talking about her. "Oh, ah -- all right. Sounds ... fun." 

"Sure!" Melissa added cheerfully. "There's no one interesting at the Halloween feast but the same old people, and dead folks." 

"There you go, the job's yours," Richard grinned. 

Jerome backed out of the circle and stretched his arms above his head. "Well, I thought you'd be interested in that. Got to go, I'm meeting a certain someone for a few hours before someone else realizes I'm slacking my duties. See you all tonight!" He strolled away with his hands in his pockets, whistling cheerfully. 

"_That's_ the kind of prefect I like," said Vivian. "All-day chess tournament, my eye." 

"Your feet," said Daedalus, with a straight face. 

***

Beth and Melissa caught up with Bruce outside Zonko's, and forgave him for running off since he tried so hard to look penitent about it, and also since they were in such a good mood themselves. The joke shop did nothing to dissipate their cheery demeanors; it was filled with fake items that turned into weird things, and as Aaron had promised, exploding devices of all kinds. Bruce restocked his yearly supply of Dungbombs and agonized over whether fake hen's teeth were worth it. 

"You can only use 'em once, you know. For that price?" 

Beth coughed loudly. "Potions with Gryffindors ..." 

No further convincing was needed. 

By the time they paid for their purchases, it was almost time to load back up on the carriages and return to Hogwarts. They joined the throng of students filtering back to where the carriages waited. It was like being swept along in the exodus after mealtimes, or in the rush between classes at school; but somehow, everyone seemed much more pleasant. 

They rode back to the castle in relative silence, but it was a good kind of quiet following an exciting day. Bruce kept taking out his new Dungbombs and looking at them, and Melissa finished most of her chocolate by the time they got back. 

In the still of the evening, as tired students slowly prepared to go to sleep, Beth found her thoughts going back again to what she had heard in the Three Broomsticks. She resolved to ask Madame Rosmerta for stories about her brothers at the very next Hogsmeade weekend. Maybe she could even introduce her to some of their old friends; maybe they'd have pictures or old letters or something, _anything_. For once, there was a chance to learn more. What she was too shy to ask her father, she was dying to ask a stranger. 

Their faces hung in her mind long after she went to sleep, and she dreamed of hazy reunions and what might have been. 


	12. The Third-Floor Corridor

**Chapter Twelve: The Third-Floor Corridor**

Beth had never actually been nervous before a meal, but she found her hands shaking as she brushed out her hair on the eve of the Halloween feast. 

Of course, she had never actually skipped a meal to go sneaking around in forbidden areas of the castle either. 

The powder room which served the third and fourth year Slytherin girls rang with giggles and excited chatter about hair, makeup, and the boys that might be willing to dance after the music began. Antigone kept flipping her silky, golden hair over one shoulder or the other, and making insinuations about who she would be seen with that night. 

"That Davies boy, the Ravenclaw. He's nice-looking," she yawned to her friends. "Although you know, I saw Cedric Diggory giving me quite a naughty glance in the library the other day." 

"Ugh, I can't believe you would want to date a Hufflepuff!" one of them squealed in disgust. 

"Don't let her fool you, she's in love with Neville Longbottom," another giggled snidely. By now, Longbottom's reputation as a klutz had penetrated even the upper classes in different houses. 

"You know, some of the first-year boys _are_ rather charming," Antigone said, with a little wink. 

That caused an uproar. Beth took the opportunity to sneak in a glance at the long vanity mirror that was usually commandeered by Antigone's crowd. Bushy blonde hair and a jutting chin, and still too tall, she noted dourly. That made her the ugliest girl in the class. She tore herself away from her reflection. Good thing she wasn't going to the feast; no one would ask her to dance anyway. 

Melissa, who had been ready for an hour, danced around nervously in the bedroom until Beth came back; together, they went down the long staircase to the common room. "You look good," Melissa commented offhandedly. Beth snorted. 

Vivian was waiting near the fireplace. She looked as if she'd spent time on her hair and face, just like the others, and her eyes sparkled in anticipation -- although for a totally different reason, Beth acknowledged with a grin. 

"Follow me." 

Beth and Melissa joined the clamoring group on the way to the feast, keeping close sight on Vivian. Beth noticed that there were a few Slytherins together; she recognized them without knowing them. They could say that they'd seen the group going to the feast, she realized, without paying attention to whether they made it or not. 

On the way down a wide hallway, just a few corridors before the Great Hall, Vivian (very discreetly, Beth thought) made a turn into one of the girls' restrooms. Beth and Melissa followed, leaving the throng to continue on to the feast. 

"Not bad," said Melissa, impressed, but Vivian put a finger to her lips. Melissa closed her mouth and they listened closely. An anxious sort of sniffling was coming from one of the stalls, coupled with intermittent sobs. 

Melissa scowled at the stall where the crying girl presumably sat. _What now?_ she mouthed. 

_Wait_, Vivian replied silently. 

For nearly ten minutes they stood around awkwardly in the bathroom, listening to the hidden girl sob. At one point a harried Ravenclaw dashed in to fix her hair; Beth ducked into a stall, while Vivian and Melissa gazed into the mirrors over the row of sinks and pretended to be checking their lipstick. Soon, the halls (if not the crying girl) grew silent, and Vivian determined with a nod that it was safe to start their mission. 

One by one they filed out of the bathroom and started toward the third-floor corridor. Vivian led them on an intricate path of little-used hallways and skinny staircases that wouldn't creak under their weight. The classrooms were shut and locked; the suits of armor, seeming bored, watched them with great interest and much comment until Vivian hushed them sharply and mentioned the Bloody Baron. His name had power over more than Peeves, it seemed. 

The halls were eerily silent; Beth had rarely been in them without the rush of students, especially this late. The stonework echoed every careful footfall, and their shadows stretched along the wall in the sparse lighting. 

Vivian peered around a corner and motioned for the others to follow her when she saw that it was clear. "Remember," she said in a low voice, "Peeves isn't allowed to go to the Halloween feast. That means he's somewhere around here, and he'll probably be in a bad mood." 

"How out of character that would be," Melissa remarked snidely. 

Vivian put on a look that made her resemble McGonagall. "He also knows that the Baron will be at the feast. If we run into Peeves, there's no scaring him away." 

"And we'd be caught in a minute," Beth agreed under her breath. 

Melissa gave her a dirty look. 

Before they knew it, the three stood before the broad, thick door to the third-floor corridor. Vivian took out her wand and turned to the others. 

"All right, whatever's back there, we either need to stupefy it, nullify it or get away from it, so have your wands ready. Stay behind the door in case it's a curse; then we'll come out and see what's there, and deal with it accordingly. Be ready to shut the door in a second if we have to! I'll go first." 

They backed up behind the door, in a line, huddled against one another. Vivian reached out with her wand and tapped the heavy lock once. "_Aholomora_." The lock sprang open. Vivian stretched out her hand and grasped the heavy handle ... slowly she cracked open the door ... she peered around into the widening gap ... 

"_Stupefy_! Close it!" In one motion, Vivian leapt around the door and thrust her wand inside the corridor. She leapt back in time for Beth and Melissa to heave the door shut. Vivian's eyes were wide, her hands trembling. 

"Well?" Melissa demanded in a nervous hiss. 

"Cerberus," Vivian panted. Her voice shook. "Three-headed dog. Enormous. I got one of his heads, though. We can shut him down with another round, everybody at once. Well -- ready?" 

Beth didn't feel remotely ready to take on a three-headed giant dog, but she nodded, cotton-mouthed. 

"All right." Vivian reached out and grasped the door handle. 

"Stupefy!" 

The door flew open and all three spell went ricocheting into the open corridor. For a moment, Beth couldn't make out what was going on; then she was suddenly, terrifyingly aware of an enormous brown creature stumbling, falling, thudding onto the ground. 

Melissa's breathing was shallow. "Not so bad." 

Vivian smiled grimly, reassuringly. "Not at all. Let's hurry up and check it out; we only have a few minutes." She stepped through the door and carefully circumvented the stunned creature. 

"Not much here," Beth assessed nervously. The hall was deserted, except for the enormous sleeping cerberus, and there were no doors or windows. "D'you think he's guarding something, or he's the secret himself?" 

"Guarding," Vivian said. 

"Definitely," Melissa agreed. "He's guarding that trapdoor." She pointed toward the cerberus. 

Hardly a yard from where the dog lay was a trapdoor in the floor. Wooden and small, it would be just wide enough for an adult to get through. Beth didn't think she wanted to see where it led. 

Vivian had a different opinion. She marched up to the trapdoor and crouched over it; wand ready, she cracked it open, then flipped it the whole way and bent over the dark hole. 

"_Lumos_." 

Beth and Melissa crowded in behind her. Through the light from Vivian's wand, they could barely make out a tangle of green far below. 

"That's it?" Melissa said, disappointed. "A plant?" 

"Might be something rare," Vivian guessed in a whisper. "Or it's another guardian ... maybe the whole thing's full of guardians, Sphinxes and things ..." 

"And killer plants," Beth added a little too loudly. 

Vivian pursed her lips. "We can't go down there now, we haven't got time and there's no one backing us up. Besides, I'm not sure if the horrible death that Dumbledore mentioned referred to being eaten by the dog, or something else." 

Beth shuddered. 

Vivian extinguished her wand and rose to her feet. "We've got enough to work with. Let's get out!" Just then the cerberus gave a sleepy snort and opened four of its eyes. The three girls hurtled out the door and slammed it just as the three-headed creature staggered to its feet, baring its teeth. 

"Close," Melissa gasped, leaning against the door. 

"That's the name of the game," Vivian agreed. "We can head back as soon as I lock the place back up. Leave no trace, that's the motto." 

Suddenly Melissa stood up straighter. 

"I think I hear someone." 

"Don't make jokes," Vivian said offhandedly, fiddling with the lock. 

"No, I mean it!" Melissa's eyes widened. "They're coming this way!" 

Now Beth could begin to make out a sound ... steady and pattering, and getting louder by the second. 

Vivian cast about wildly. Then she reached out and grabbed Melissa and Beth by their hands. Linked like that, in a circle, Vivian closed her eyes as if summoning a deep thought, or a deep wellspring of power. 

"_Ceteris paribus_." 

Melissa gasped. The three rings started to glow red, a bloody light seeping from the center of the pewter crest. Vivian let go of their hands. She took out her wand and said quietly, "_Disapparate_." 

Beth felt a wind pick up around her. It billowed out her cloak and sent her hair streaming to one side. A sort of dizziness started to cloud her vision, like stars in the rim of her sight ... it was almost like trying to stay upright in the Floo network ... 

And then it stopped. 

Beth felt herself lurch to her knees as nausea came crashing down. She heard Melissa let out a moan beside her. Then Vivian was on the floor beside her, apologizing through the waves of dizziness. Gradually Beth started to tune in what she was saying. 

"We had to get out. I don't know any other way." 

Beth sat back with a thud. "What?" she murmured. The clouds in her brain began to lift. 

"I've never tried it like that before. I knew it would work, but you two are so young still, I'm sorry." 

"What did you do?" Melissa groaned. She lay on her side on the ground, clutching her stomach. 

"I Apparated us." 

Beth opened her eyes. "So we're not ... in the corridor?" She sounded woozy and distant. 

"No. We're in the common room. I Apparated back here, and brought you with me." 

Melissa sat up groggily. "I thought you couldn't Apparate in the castle," she slurred, although she was beginning to sound coherent again. 

"You can't Apparate into the castle or onto the grounds. From room to room, there's no restrictions." 

"But only one person can Apparate, I mean it only works individually." Beth stood up and felt the blood rush to her head. Vivian caught her before she could stumble back down. They _were_ in the common room, Beth realized. Fifteen minutes to get to the corridor, and ten seconds to get back. 

"No wonder you have to have a license," Melissa said. She stood up more slowly, and headed toward one of the high-backed chairs. 

Vivian followed her and the three of them sat in a circle. Beth couldn't remember ever feeling so wiped out. "We look awful," she blurted, and they started to laugh. 

"How did you do that again?" Melissa persisted. 

"I invoked Ceteris Paribus," Vivian replied, a little grimly. "I've never done that before. It's built into the rings -- another of Riddle's best ideas -- so that a spell on one of the wearers works on all of the wearers. Provided you can get close enough to touch them," she added. "Otherwise the whole SSA would be here too, and I mean all hundred twenty-two." 

The thought of Bruce standing in the common room, looking bewildered, made Beth laugh again. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. What a crazy evening. She'd be happy just to get to bed. 

"What did you do, run all the way back?" 

Beth opened her eyes. In front of her stood Bruce, flanked by Aaron and Warrington. "Yeah," she said softly. "Couldn't wait to get to bed." 

"Man, I wish I could see it," Aaron exclaimed enthusiastically, though he looked a little fearful at the same time. 

"We could take it on." Warrington slapped a fist into his open palm. 

What were they talking about? Melissa gave Vivian a confused look. 

"Incredible," said Bruce. He raised his voice a very little bit and looked around at the three girls. "How could a troll get into the castle?" 

Melissa's mouth fell open. "I don't know," she enunciated, managing to conceal most of her surprise. 

"Maybe it broke in a window or something," Vivian suggested excitedly. "Who's going after it?" She was a good actress, Beth noted. She'd picked up just the right combination of fascination and surprise. 

"Dumbledore, I guess," Warrington shrugged. "Snape too. He sent us back with Jerome." 

By now the whole of Slytherin was crowded into the common room, babbling about the danger. In the middle of it all, Jerome Marx seemed to be simultaneously calling out instructions to the older students and reassuring the terrified first-year girls. 

"We're safe in here! They'll have it out in no time! Just go to bed!" he shouted in a harried voice, turning in every direction at once. "The feast is over anyway! Let's just not have _fifty people_ in the common room, _all right_?" 

Some of the more obedient students began to filter upstairs. Beth and Melissa rose from their seats, yawning, and followed the herds back to their bedchambers. On the way, Beth leaned over to Melissa's ear. 

"Those footsteps must have been the troll," she whispered, wide-eyed. "And we just missed getting crushed by it!" 

Melissa gave a little nervous laugh. "Crushed by a troll, eaten by a monster dog, caught in the forbidden hallway ... what's it matter, in the name of Slytherin?" 

"Gloria serpens," Beth replied. 


	13. Gryffindor's New Seeker

_[Author's Note:]_ Here's another one of those close shaves with plagiarism. A caution: this is canon to the book, NOT the movie. Of special note is the fact that in the movie, the Slytherin Keeper, Bletchley, is a girl. Since there aren't any girls on the team in CoS, I figured it was safe to make Bruce a boy. Obviously Chris Columbus thought otherwise. 

**Chapter Thirteen: Gryffindor's New Seeker**

Richard was fascinated by the news of the third-floor corridor excursion, and kept interrupting the girls' story to ask for more details. When they were done, he threw up his hands and let out an excited whoop. 

"Cerberus! Fantastic! And we can get past him too. Brilliant!" 

Vivian fluttered her eyelids sarcastically. "Oh Richard, you're such a tease." 

Richard grabbed her around the waist and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. "You beautiful woman, if you can find out why there's a cerberus guarding the trapdoor, I'll marry you. That goes for all of you," he declared grandly, hugging Melissa and Beth simultaneously. 

"Me too, Rich?" simpered Uther. 

"Especially you. I told you this was going to be an important year. The secret of the century -- just _begging_ to be found out!" 

***

Nobody won the right to marry Richard, although Uther made a show of proposing marriage almost every time he spotted one of the SSA coming down the hall. With three weeks left in the term, the teachers began cracking down on homework, and a whole pile of essays came due all at the same time. 

On the other hand, none of the teachers were nearly as strict as Marcus Flint. He started calling Quidditch practices at dusk, in the rain, early in the morning, anything to prepare the team for their first match and whatever conditions it might bring. 

"My head hurts," Warrington groaned one morning, his forehead resting on the breakfast table. Beth patted his back reassuringly. 

Bruce's head was bent back over his chair. "I am too tired to eat." 

"There's no such thing," Marcus boomed, passing by. "Chow down. We're practicing over lunch." 

Warrington beat his head against the table a few times. "Make it stop." 

Aaron Pucey stood up suddenly. "Whine to someone else," he all but snarled. He picked up his plate one-handed and moved down the table, plopping down across from a startled Mervin. 

Bruce watched him go, guilt all over his face. 

"Don't fret, Brucey," Melissa said comfortingly. "You deserve the spot. You won it. To the victor go the spoils." 

"You mean like 6 a.m. practices?" said Bruce wryly. 

"I want to die," groaned Warrington. 

***

Aaron didn't speak to the members of the Quidditch team until the first game. He started partnering with Mervin in Potions, and made a decided effort to get to meals when the team wasn't there. On the day of the first game, he waited until the players had left to get changed before he came down to breakfast. 

The whole school filled the stadium; even residents of Hogsmeade turned out to watch the game. It was a clear morning, and the air held a crisp autumnal bite. Beth and Melissa skipped breakfast and slept in on mutual agreement. They got to the field just as the seats were starting to fill, and sat near the front row behind the Slytherin goals. 

The Gryffindor supporters wore red, the house colors; the number of them was overwhelming. The Slytherins, in green, formed a patch of color behind their goals. 

Richard came and took a seat beside Melissa. "Look at that," he said in disgust, waving a hand at the masses of red cloaks and badges. "The audience is three to one against us -- and they claim that _Gryffindor's_ the underdog!" 

"Gosh Richard, when you're around things just seem brighter and cheerier," Vivian remarked from behind them. 

"Just wait until the players come out," Richard glowered. "That's what always kills me." 

Just a few minutes later the Gryffindors took the field, as Jordan read off their names in rapid order. Cheers rose from three-fourths of the throng. The Slytherins, green-clad and steel-faced, emerged from the other end of the field. 

"Flint! Montague! Pucey! Warrington! Bole! Bletchley! Aannd ... Higgs!" 

"Way to go, Brucey!" Beth shrieked, while Melissa pounded the bleachers with her feet and whooped enthusiastically. 

"Listen," said Richard gloomily. 

Beth stopped cheering and listened closely. Over the din of the Slytherins, she could still make out a low, rolling sound that sent a sudden chill through her bones. 

Some of the audience was actually booing. 

"They're not -" she gasped, but Richard nodded. 

"Every time. Marcus warns them before they come out, you can see it in their faces." 

It was true. Every expression was firmly set. It made the Slytherin team look like a gang of brutes. Warrington, heavy-browed as he was, came across practically paleolithic. Bruce looked no better. Even from her seat, Beth could tell that he clutched his Comet with white knuckles. 

Madame Hooch called the team captains together. 

"Counter-intuitively, that may be why we win," Riggs interjected thoughtfully. He sat beside Vivian and had actually brought along homework. "Who's more determined to win than the team everyone hates?" 

"I can't believe you just used the word 'counter-intuitively'," Vivian said, but Melissa, peering through a pair of binoculars, broke in: 

"There they go!" 

Lee Jordan, the dreadlocked Gryffindor with the pet tarantula, had somehow landed the job of announcer. His magically-magnified voice echoed through the Quidditch pitch. 

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor -- what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too --" 

"JORDAN!" Professor McGonagall barked. 

"Sorry, Professor." 

"How did he get the job?" Melissa demanded. "You couldn't _find_ anyone more biased!" 

"We've got the Quaffle!" cried Beth, almost strangling Melissa in her attempt to get hold of the binoculars around her neck. "It's Marcus, look at him go! He's almost -- oh no, Wood's blocked it!" 

"Give me those back!" Melissa regained the binoculars just as Beth's statement was backed up by Lee Jordan: 

" ... stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle ..." 

The Quaffle didn't stay in the hands of the Gryffindors for long, however. Warrington aimed a well-placed Bludger at the back of the Chaser's head, and while she was still spinning around in pain, Adrian Pucey swiped up the Quaffle and shot toward the Slytherin goal. 

Cheering erupted from the Slytherin stands, but quickly turned to groans as Adrian was almost thrown from his broom by a Bludger. Gryffindor's Chaser Johnson snagged the Quaffle and hurtled across the field. 

"She's heading right to Bruce! It's all him!" Melissa squealed. 

"Then let me _see_!" Beth demanded, grappling with the binoculars. They ended up side by side, heads pressed together, looking through the binoculars with one eye apiece. 

On the field, Angelina Johnson was flying as fast as she could toward the Slytherin goal. She ducked between Warrington and Bole, dodged a Bludger that one of them managed to hurl her way, and zoomed toward Bruce, who hovered expectantly before the goal posts. Without warning, she swung a full circle and dove a full ten feet, coming up far to Bruce's left, and hurled the Quaffle toward the goal posts. Bruce lunged for the Quaffle, but it was too late; the goal was good. 

The Slytherins broke into groans that were overridden by the cheering from the rest of the school. "Poor Bruce!" cried Melissa, as Jordan emphatically announced: "GRYFFINDORS SCORE!" 

Bruce, looping around the goalposts, looked as if someone had told him that his mother had died. He gathered his nerve and took his position again just as Madame Hooch blew a blast on her whistle and the game resumed. 

The Slytherins took possession right away, finally getting a chance to execute the plays that Flint had been drilling into their heads. Bole and Warrington went after the Bludgers aggressively, once managing to send one towards the Gryffindor Seeker who circled high above the other players. Uther and Marcus, weaving around the field elaborately, ducked all three Chasers to get the Quaffle to Adrian, who took off down the field again. 

Suddenly Terrence Higgs, who had been lurking below the action, skyrocketed up into the line of play and shot towards Adrian. "There's the Snitch!" Melissa exclaimed, although Beth couldn't make it out from where she was sitting. "It's right by Adrian's head!" Startled, Adrian whirled around. His hands flew open, and the Quaffle fell to Earth. 

"Oh no!" Vivian wailed. "Pick it up, someone!" 

Uther Montague darted underneath the falling Quaffle and snagged it neatly in one arm, but at that moment the Snitch was the subject of everyone's attention. Terrence and Potter narrowed in on each other, arms outstretched. "Potter's got a better broom," Melissa complained, shifting with excitement. "He's faster --" 

Marcus Flint, however, was not going to let a fast broom get in the way of victory. He threw himself in front of Potter, sending the Gryffindor Seeker flying off in a spin. Madame Hooch barged in, blowing her whistle angrily while the Gryffindors screamed "Foul, throw him out!" from the stands. 

Lee Jordan agreed. "So -- after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating --" 

"Jordan!" 

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul --" 

"Jordan, I'm warning you!" 

"All right, all right, Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor ..." 

The Gryffindors were given a penalty shot, although luckily Marcus was allowed to stay in the game. "I don't know why that's illegal," Melissa said in disgust. "Isn't the _point_ to keep the Snitch away from the other team?" 

"Hush, it's Bruce again," shushed Beth, flapping her free hand and peering through the binoculars. 

But his first miss must have badly shaken Bruce; Gryffindor Chaser Spinnet sank the penalty shot past his clumsy block. He returned to his spot in front of the goals, muttering furiously to himself and gripping his broomstick harder than ever. Flint flew by him with a few encouraging words before swishing back to the center of the field. 

Madame Hooch threw the Quaffle up again, and once more the Slytherins took possession; the Chasers, at least, were on top of their game. Uther passed the ball to Marcus, who went dodging down the field, past all of the Gryffindor Chasers, moving in on the Keeper -- 

A Bludger came out of nowhere and struck Marcus full in the face. He lurched backwards, losing his grip on the Quaffle, but Adrian Pucey caught it and darted past Oliver Wood for a quick and easy score. 

"Way to go, Pucey!" Vivian cried, over the energetic cheers of the Slytherins. 

"Slytherins score ... oh no ... that's twenty-ten, Gryffindor favor, and the Snitch is nowhere in sight," Jordan narrated. "Back to the toss-up, Gryffindors take possession -- Beater Warrington tries to take Spinnet's head off with a Bludger, what a lousy --" 

"Jordan, will you please!" 

"So Slytherin has the Quaffle, after that completely gratuitous violence -- just kidding, Professor -- Chaser Montague speeds past the Weasleys -- he's heading toward the goal -- wait a minute, what's wrong with the Gryffindor Seeker?" 

All eyes turned to Harry Potter, high above the other players. His broomstick was rising even higher still, and jerking as if it had a mind of its own. Suddenly, it started to roll over in a sickening barrel roll. The broom lurched, bucking Potter off except for one grasping hand. 

"What is he doing?" gasped Melissa, standing up for a better view. Potter's teammates were swarming around him, trying to get him onto their own brooms, but the wayward broomstick wouldn't let them come close enough. Terrence Higgs circled silently below, keeping a keen eye on Potter. 

"Look at Terrence, he's going to try to catch him," Richard whispered, almost falling over in suspense. 

Vivian let out a high, nervous giggle. "Look, Marcus thinks the game's still on." He had grabbed the Quaffle and was busy scoring as many times as possible while the other team was preoccupied. He looked like he was going to win the game singlehandedly. 

There was a yelp from lower in the stands and Professor Snape started hopping around on one foot, smoke streaming from the hem of his robe. Suddenly Potter pulled himself onto his broomstick and dove for the ground, obviously planning to get as low as possible before it happened again. Just as he was about to land he clapped a hand over his mouth in surprise -- he collapsed onto the field -- and he coughed the Golden Snitch into his hand. 

"I've got the Snitch!" he hollered, holding it in the air. His relieved teammates landed around him, completely obscuring him from sight. Madame Hooch blew a shaky blast on her whistle and landed, hand over her heart. 

The Slytherins were aghast. "That can't count!" Melissa shrieked, gripping her binoculars so hard that Beth thought they were going to be crushed. "You can't win a game by eating the Snitch!" 

Marcus Flint landed and stormed up to Madame Hooch, fiercely arguing, but the referee was more interested in checking on Potter's safety than hearing his complaints. She waved them all back to the locker rooms, completing the chaos on the field. 

In the stands, no one knew whether to stay or go. The Gryffindors mobbed their teammates; random Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs swarmed around them, either to offer congratulations or just catch a glimpse of the new Gryffindor Seeker, who had ridden a bucking broomstick and lived. "Gryffindor victory, one hundred and seventy to sixty!" Lee Jordan rejoiced. "Although why those last five goals by Slytherin should count is beyond me!" Professor McGonagall, anxiously hurrying to her student, was unavailable for comment. 

The Slytherins finally left the Quidditch pitch in packs, disgruntled with the whole thing. "I wouldn't mind losing," Melissa complained on the way back, "if it was a _proper_ game. They should have fouled him right out." 

The team came out of the locker room and started plodding back to the castle. They looked bitterly disappointed, with the exception of Marcus Flint, who was just plain mad. 

"He didn't catch it, he nearly _swallowed_ it," he howled to his teammates, who grunted back in agreement. "We were right on their tails until then. We would have clobbered them otherwise. And Terrence was even watching out for him instead of looking for the Snitch. Bloody _ungrateful_." 

"It's a good thing we have off tomorrow," Beth said, dejected. "I don't want to face the Gryffindors for a few days." 

"Their heads will be as big as balloons," Melissa agreed with a sniff. They could still hear the sounds of wild celebration behind them. "Especially that awful Lee Jordan. He'll be intolerable." 

"The whole _school_ is going to be intolerable," Riggs grumbled, slouching along beside them. "They've wanted this for six years." 

From the throngs of exuberant spectators and the cheers that still went on at the field, Beth had to agree. 


	14. The Shrieking Shack

**Chapter Fourteen: The Shrieking Shack**

The recently defeated Slytherin Quidditch team sulked around for weeks afterward. Aaron Pucey, on the other hand, must have felt either pity or superiority, since he started talking to them again, even offering a bit of patronizing sympathy every once in a while. 

"Who knew the kid would be that good?" he reasoned in Potions one day, as Bruce and Warrington ground their teeth beside him. "No one even guessed that Potter --" 

"A POX ON POTTER!" roared Warrington, banging his fists on the table. The Weasleys, engaged in dicing narwhal entrails, looked up at him and snorted back laughter. 

"Are we having trouble coping with defeat?" asked Spinnet sweetly. 

"Just jealous," Lee Jordan chimed in, a big grin on his face. 

"Right, I wish we had a bunch of firsties on our team, just like you," Melissa shot back. 

"Our _firstie_ kicked your _seventh_-year's --" 

"Enough, quiet down," Snape broke in casually. The class started putting away their supplies. "Slytherins, you must let me know which of you will be staying for Christmas break. If the Gryffindors ever cease their giddiness, they may do likewise to Professor McGonagall." 

Johnson scowled back at him and murmured something to Spinnet, who raised a hand to hide her giggles. 

"Class is dismissed." 

Beth kicked the wall angrily as they left the dungeon. "How do the Gryffindors manage to ruin every class?" she demanded. "For once, I'd like to have Potions with someone else." 

"Who?" snorted Melissa. "The Ravenclaws? 'Look, professor, I just discovered five new kinds of dust. They gathered on me while I was reading.'" 

Bruce cracked up. 

"Hey, Melissa," said Aaron, giving her a nudge, "How many Hufflepuffs does it take to light up a wand?" 

"How many?" asked Melissa gamely. 

"Two, trying as hard as they can, and they never give up until they get it, those plucky Hufflepuffs." 

They howled with laughter, and the Gryffindors gave them a wide berth as they passed. 

***

The days got colder and shorter as November went on. The Quidditch team eased up on their practices, not having another game for a few months; likewise, the SSA decided to scout around the corridor over Christmas and did nothing else productive. That wasn't much of a relief, though, thanks to the homework in the other classes. By the time Christmas rolled around, Beth was more than ready to hang up her robes for a few days. Besides, she hadn't heard from her father recently, and was eager to catch up with him and Mr. and Mrs. Scamander. 

On the morning of December 23, almost the entire population of Hogwarts boarded the fleet of horseless carriages and bumped along the dirt path to Hogsmeade station, where the Hogwarts Express waited, steaming. They poured out into the station, clutching their bags and pets tightly. 

"Professor!" A sweaty, grimy man came up to Professor Sprout, who stood watch over the students. 

"Yes?" 

"Goin' ter be a bit of a wait," he huffed, mopping his face with a greasy handkerchief. "Whole nest of faeries went an' hatched in one o' th' compartments. Didn't see til we pulled 'er out today. Might want ter warn yer students." 

"How long should it be?" Sprout worried. 

"Hour. Mebbe two." 

Professor Sprout turned to tell the news to the assembled students, but everyone in their third year and older was already gone. 

***

Bruce, Melissa, Beth and Mervin dashed along the main street of Hogsmeade, giggling madly. "Wonder if Sprout will let the little 'uns go?" Beth wondered. 

"Can't trust 'em to be back," Bruce grinned. "And us --" 

"You can't trust us either," laughed Melissa. "Which way?" 

"I need to get a Christmas present for Dad," Beth spoke up. "Is there a gift shop around?" 

"Lord Fossecker's Curios," Mervin said. "On the way to the Shack." 

They spent half an hour in Fossecker's trying to pick out something for Mr. Parson. Beth eventually settled on a Remembrall, a little while marble that glowed red when the owner had forgotten something. "Not that it will help," she commented at the cash register. "He'll just think it's a cute red Christmas ornament. Darned if he ever finds out that it's white sometimes." 

All the rest of them remembered Christmas shopping that needed to be done, so they darted back to Honeyduke's and again to Zonko's. They came out poorer but happier, armed with enough sweets and magical tricks to make it through break. 

Melissa looked at her watch. "It's been an hour. Think they're ready yet?" 

Mervin bit him lip. "Maybe not. It would only take a few minutes ..." 

"To what?" 

Mervin nodded his head toward the Shack, far in the distance. 

Beth squealed with joy. "Good idea! Let's try it again!" 

"But the train's leaving," argued Melissa. 

"Maybe not," said Bruce. "Come on. It's worth a try. You can go back, we'll just have fun ducking the guards without you." 

"Oh, go on," Melissa huffed. "I'll be on the train. Heaven knows what will happen if they leave without you." 

"Take my stuff, will you?" begged Bruce. 

"Oh, me too," agreed Beth. They piled their packages into Melissa's arms. "Thanks!" They left her struggling to hold an armful of parcels, and dashed down the road. 

Mervin slowed down when the shack came into sight. "All right, here's the tricky bit," he murmured, a little under his breath. "There's goblin guards all around, see? But they walk around in little paths on each side, so sometimes there's a whole corner where no one's looking. Now, I've scouted this out, and on the east side there's a big bush by the wall. If we time it just right, we can sneak up and hide behind it and no one'll know." 

"You're brilliant!" Beth laughed appreciatively. 

Doing their best to look casual, they strolled around the shack and stood in a little group about thirty feet from the perimeter. The bush was in plain sight, and with some squeezing, they could all fit behind it. Beth could feel her pulse run high. 

"Got to make this quick," Mervin was muttering. "Watch me. Few more rotations. See, that one's slower than the other ..." 

"Richard would be so proud," said Beth. 

At once, the goblin guards reached the ends of their cycle and turned their backs to each other. They marched a few paces, not looking back ... 

"Now!" hissed Mervin. 

They scrambled up the slope and crouched giggling behind the shrub, barely daring to breathe. Mervin held a finger to his lips; they paused in tense anticipation. Beth knew that any minute a goblin would reach down and haul them out with a rough, gnarled hand; Bruce's eyes were alight with adventure. They heard the rhythmic crunch of footfalls in the snow. Closer ... closer .... 

The goblin strolled past. 

Everyone let out their breaths in one short gust. "Now how do we get back out?" Beth demanded, her voice an excited squeak. 

"Hush," said Bruce suddenly. 

They froze. From the silence rose a voice, barely audible, a masculine voice, with an edge and a bit of a growl to it. 

Mervin pressed his ear against the side of the shack. In there, he mouthed, pointing to the wall, his eyes wide. They all drew closer to the wall, silent and still as they could be. 

"It's a beauty." This voice was different before -- higher, more nervous. 

"Norwegian. Had to ..." The first, gruffer voice faded out for a moment. "...just to get it in." 

"The mangy fool will kill for it." A high-pitched laugh followed, making Beth shudder at the thought of what the speaker meant. 

Bruce started combing the side of the shack with his hands. In a few minutes, he bent his head close to one of the cracks. After one look inside, he drew away with a gasp. 

"What?" demanded Beth, in a frightened undertone. 

"Come on, we've got to go," he breathed. "Tell you on the train. We have to _go_!" 

An enormous THUD came from inside the shack. They needed no further persuasion. In a trice the three were sprinting away from the shack as fast as they could run, not even heeding the angry grunt of a goblin guard, and they didn't stop until they were in the train station. They poured into their compartment, panting, barely a few minutes before the Hogwarts express pulled away. 

"See, I knew you'd be late," Melissa sniffed. 

"Not -- that --" said Beth, still gasping for breath. "We were at the -- Shack -- and we heard these -- two -- people --" 

Between them, they spit out the story and caught their breath in another few minutes. 

"And I saw a crack between boards, so I looked in," Bruce finished, looking somber, "and I saw who was talking." 

"Who?" everyone demanded at once. 

"It was Kettleburn. Kettleburn and Quirrell." 

"Kettleburn! How'd he get into the Shack?" Mervin was livid, Beth guessed with jealousy. 

"Must be a secret passageway from the school," Melissa guessed excitedly. "What did you say they were talking about? A beautiful Norwegian?" 

"And a messy fool," Beth added. 

"Mangy," corrected Mervin. 

"Whatever." 

"This is serious," Bruce mused, heavy brow furrowed in concentration. "We've got to report to the SSA as soon as we get back. I wonder if it has something to do with the corridor." 

"Oooh. Maybe," Beth said, in wonder. 

The passing of the food cart interrupted their conversation. They spent the rest of the trip making wild theories about what exactly Quirrell and Kettleburn would be doing in the shack. Melissa's suggestions were laughable, and Mervin's were vulgar. The one thing they agreed on was that it was exactly the kind of thing that made Richard leap for joy. 

At the train station in London, Beth found her father waiting with a taxi. It took most of the rest of the day to drive back, during which time she told him as much as she could without making the taxi driver suspicious. She left out anything about the SSA, but only realized it later. She had grown totally accustomed to keeping the group's activities a secret. 

Two exciting days later, they had Christmas dinner with the Scamanders, and it was as American as they could make it: turkey, cranberry sauce, and plenty of thick, salty gravy. Beth's father even brought out his favorite recipe for green bean casserole. They stayed up and talked until eleven o'clock; then the Scamanders, complaining cheerfully of the hour and the fullness of their stomachs, flew home, and Beth went back to her room full and happy. 

She felt too alive to go to sleep right away, so she lay in the dark with a grin on her face for a while. Who cared what family she might not have, she thought staunchly, it was the family she _did_ have that counted. 

Something crunched outside the window. 

Beth grew still. It was the sound of footprints, slow feet in the crusty snow. Carefully, she slipped from her bed and crept to the window. 

Against the light of the moon, Beth could make out a stooped figure shuffling through the backyard. The slow, bent form was unmistakably her father. 

Half disbelieving, Beth watched as her father raised one arm into the air. From his open palm, a small dark form rose into the sky. At that distance it looked like a black Snitch, with a round body and wide wings. Flapping a few times, the creature hovered; then it took off into the night. 

William Parson stood and watched the creature fly off; both were silhouetted against the bright moon. After a few minutes, he turned and began to slowly walk back to the house. 

Beth yanked the curtains shut and leapt into bed. She forced herself to breathe deeply. Soon, she heard her father come in and latch the door; he came down the hall and peeked into Beth's room; then, mercifully, he went back to his own bedroom and shut the door. 

Beth lay staring at the ceiling, her heart beating fast. Why would her father be sending messages by moonlight, with a strange small bird, when they had a perfectly good owl and an equally good postman? Beth couldn't imagine her father doing anything even remotely shady; he was the kind of man that didn't walk on the grass and turned people in for littering. What could he be sending? 

And another thing. Who would be receiving the letter? 

Since her mother had died, William Parson's contact with the wizarding world had been minimal, and to Beth's knowledge it had mostly to do with her. He still sent owl post to a few friends from the United States, and kept up with the Scamanders and a few of his wife's old friends. Beth had seen him send all of them letters by daylight before. 

Had something changed? 

In the dark, Beth lay worrying until she sank into sleep. 


	15. The Birthday Prank

**Chapter Fifteen: The Birthday Prank**

Christmas vacation flew by, and before Beth knew it she was back at Hogwarts hugging her friends and exclaiming over how much she had missed them. The thing to do in the Slytherin common room was show off the best Christmas presents, so the room was full of sparkling lights and curious objects. Bruce was most excited about his broomstick; his parents were so pleased with his success as Keeper that they had arranged for a complete upgrade from the Comet makers. 

"And they straightened the twigs -- grew out some of the broken ones -- fixed that jerky startup --" Bruce bragged to Uther, who gazed at the broom in unconcealed envy. Bruce was clutching the broom to his chest and looking as if he'd never let it go. 

"Fantastic!" Adrian Pucey rejoiced, examining the new twigwork with an expert eye. "You'd never know it was a Comet. How's she handle?" 

Bruce let out a whoop of bliss. Around him, the Quidditch team couldn't hold back an enthusiastic cheer. 

"Ravenclaw match is coming up," Aaron told Beth, looking both thrilled at its closeness and devastated that he wasn't going to be in it. His cast and splints had been removed, but his grip wasn't what it had been; you could tell just by looking at his handwriting. Nevertheless, he had started training with the team in case one of the players caught the flu or a Bludger. 

"It'll be a good one. I hear the Ravenclaws actually have two or three good players this year." 

Aaron snickered. "Well, we've got seven. Let 'em try." 

"Eight. You never know when we'll need an alternate." 

Aaron ducked his head to hide a bitter frown. "Maybe." 

Beth changed the subject. "Seen Melissa? She hasn't been around since I got back." 

"Not since we came in, sorry." 

Bruce joined them, still clutching his broomstick and beaming. "Have a good Christmas, Beth?" 

Beth thought about the silhouette of her father in the moonlight. "Fine ..." 

"Merry Christmas, Beth!" 

It was Melissa, looking brighter and rosier than she had been since last semester. 

"Where have you been?" Beth asked in cheerful accusation, giving her a hug. 

If possible, Melissa flushed a brighter red. "Out walking," she replied, with a shy smile. "Before we go back to the grind, you know. I hear Vector's really got some work for us this year. And Quirrell says he'll start us fending off curses soon. Wish I'd known that at the beginning of the year." She laughed, a little giggly. 

"Right." Beth glanced at Bruce. "Speak of the curser -- any word from Richard's crowd?" 

"I've told Rich about what we heard at the Shack," said Bruce quietly. "Did they find out any more about the corridor?" 

Melissa shook her head. "Christmas vacation was a wash. All they found out was that someone tried to break into the restricted section of the library over break." 

Beth laughed. "Must have been a Ravenclaw, who else would try to steal a book?" She turned to Bruce with a little yawn. "Sorry, I have to get to bed. It's late." 

Melissa seconded it. "See you tomorrow, Brucey. Have a good night - and dream about your Comet." 

"As if," said Beth, "you had to remind him." 

***

School started into full swing right away. The Ravenclaws were clobbered in the Quidditch match, although they put up an admirable fight. ("Admirable for a bunch of nerds," snorted Melissa.) Before Beth knew it, the day in February came when she woke up to a chorus of Slytherin girls singing "Happy Birthday" at six in the morning. She took a hot shower and spent more time than usual on her hair, with little success. It remained as bushy as ever. Seemingly in compliance with her good mood, breakfast was bacon and toast - her favorite - and the enchanted ceiling proved that although it was still cold outside, the sun shone brightly in a clear sky. 

The boys of Slytherin found it necessary to serenade her again when she came downstairs, so her cheeks shone almost as brightly as her smile. All in all, Beth decided, it was shaping up to be a pretty good birthday. 

The hall was filled with hooting as a flock of owls swarmed in to deliver the mail. A fat brown barn owl hovered over the Slytherin table. He spotted Beth and swooped down, dropping a brightly-colored envelope on her breakfast plate. 

She tore it open. It was a birthday card from her father. Beaming, she leaned over to show Melissa. 

A terrible cry rang through the Great Hall. 

It echoed around the high ceiling. Students silenced and started gazing around looking for its source. The owls dove and scattered, fluttering out the windows and letting their undelivered messages fall to the floor. 

One of the high windows went black as an enormous shape shuttered through it. An broad white bird, with a wingspan easily as long as a man, circled the ceiling once, and then dove for the Slytherin table. The Slytherins ducked as it passed. A single feather fluttered down onto Beth's plate. 

The bird circled again, eyeing the students below, and shot back out of the window like a bullet. 

Beth climbed out from under the table, eyes wide. She picked up the feather and turned it over in her hands. It was larger than both of her palms held open together. On one side, a message was scrawled in large, untidy printing. The ink was thick and flaky brown. It read: 

Happy birthday Beth. Love, Mom

Around the Great Hall, activity had resumed, but Beth froze as if stupefied. She stared at the words for long moments, oblivious to the chatter around her. She felt like she was diving through the ocean, getting farther and farther from the watery sun ... 

Things swam back into focus. Beth felt anger flood through her. Someone had done this, just to mock her. It was someone's idea of a joke... Her eyes fell on the Weasleys across the room, laughing with their friend Jordan. 

Before she knew what she was doing, Beth jumped to her feet and strode over to the Gryffindor table. Her face felt hot and her robes were too tight around her neck. She marched up to the nearest Weasley twin and slapped him across his laughing, freckled face. The Weasley nearly fell out of his seat, and the other one leapt up. 

"_How could you_!" she half-screamed, feeling her heartbeat in her cheeks. "_I never thought even you would sink -- so -- low_!" The Weasleys gaped at her in open shock. She lifted a plate of scrambled eggs from the table and hurled it at them with all her might. Then she whirled around and ran out of the Great Hall. 

Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she bolted through the castle. Twice she tripped and went sprawling; she scrambled to her feet and kept running, and didn't stop until she was in her bed with the canopy safely closed. There she lay on her stomach and cried until she couldn't tolerate herself anymore. Then she wiped her tears and sat up, sniffling, to take a closer look at the feather still clutched in one hand. 

"Love, Mom." 

How could they be that insensitive? Even the Weasleys must know that she'd never hear her mother's voice again, and she'd never get a birthday greeting from her. Beth didn't know how they'd gotten hold of that monstrous bird, but it was outrageous, _unthinkable_ that they would spend so much effort just to tease her. Well, she thought bitterly, they got their reaction. 

Beth lay back down and didn't come back out until after lunch. 


	16. Horklumps and Retaliation

**Chapter Sixteen: Horklumps and Retaliation**

As Beth made her way down the hall towards Care of Magical Creatures, she could hear whispers rise and fall around her. 

"That's the girl who hit Fred -- Slytherin --" 

"Why, then?" 

"Don't know. Fred's mad though." 

She stormed ahead, her face dark and dangerous. Even the bright sun and clear sky couldn't lift her spirits as she strode across the muddy, slushy lawn to the paddock, where Professor Kettleburn had instructed them to meet. 

Most of the students were already assembled when Beth reached the paddock. Several of the Gryffindors pulled back as she arrived. She was gratified to see that one of the Weasleys' cheeks was looking red and puffy. It serves them right, she thought. 

Professor Kettleburn's wand-hand had changed into a trowel. As Beth took a closer look around, she saw that the ground inside the paddock was crowded with large pink mushrooms, each covered with black bristles. 

"What happened at breakfast?" Melissa hissed into Beth's ear. Before Beth could reply, Professor Kettleburn had begun to speak. 

"I came out to the paddock the other day and found it full of Horklumps," Kettleburn announced. "They'll overrun the school grounds if you leave 'em alone. I've got permission from Dumbledore to let you help clear 'em out. Grab some gloves and a trowel from the box." 

The class swarmed over the box full of gloves, trying to pick out matching pairs. As Beth leaned down to get hers, she found herself across from the slapped Weasley. His eyes narrowed; she grabbed two mismatched gloves and jerked away, face burning again. 

"Horklumps are a pest and nothing more. Only good is to feed 'em to gnomes. Anyone know how to get rid of the lot?" 

Jordan, the Gryffindor with dreadlocks, raised his hand. "Streeler venom." 

"Good," Kettleburn commended him gruffly. "Take five points for Gryffindor. We'll be using a weak solution of Streeler venom. Be careful not to get it on your skin, it'll burn somethin' fierce. Pour a drop on the Horklump at the roots, then get under it as fast as you can with the trowel. Got to get its tentacles out of the ground. We'll throw 'em in this bag; Professor Sprout wanted a few for her greenhouses, and I'll kill the rest after class. There are five vials of venom here, so share. Go on!" he barked, and the students jumped into action. 

Beth took command of one of the vials of Streeler venom and attacked the Horklumps with a passion, dousing their rootlike tentacles until they shriveled into wiry brown twists. Bruce followed her at a safe distance, digging under the dying Horklumps and handing them to Melissa, who placed them in Kettleburn's big canvas bag and grimaced every time. 

After an hour of crawling around the paddock on her hands and knees, Beth and the other students were sticky with sweat, and soaked through at the knees from melting snow and mud. Beth felt better than she had in hours. They threw their gloves back into the box and went back into the school. 

"Oy, Parson. What d'you hit Fred for?" demanded an angry voice behind her. Beth stopped walking and turned around to see both Weasleys and their friend Jordan glaring at her. Melissa and Bruce appeared at her side in seconds. 

"Probably one of your juvenile practical jokes," Melissa retorted, raising her chin defiantly. 

"They never --" Jordan interrupted fiercely, but the unslapped Weasley silenced him with an elbow. 

"For what?" the Weasley demanded again. 

Beth felt her face contort. "For the feather, you -- slime!" she stammered. "Or was that too long ago for you to remember?" 

The Weasleys looked at each other in plain surprise. "Feather?" wondered one, while the other said, "We've never enchanted quills, just wands." 

"Does this ring a bell?" Beth snarled. She pulled the feather from the pocket of her robes, where it had been since the morning, and thrust it in the face of the closest Weasley. He stared at it -- which was difficult to do, since it was right between his eyes -- in genuine astonishment. 

"Never seen it!" he avowed hastily. 

"Just the Slytherins, trying to stir up trouble," Jordan growled, clenching his fists. 

Melissa's voice rose to a high, insulted pitch. "Accusing _us_ of making trouble!" Bruce moved forward protectively, staring down the belligerent Jordan. 

"_Liar_!" Beth spat. She threw the feather to the ground and made a grab for her wand. The unslapped Weasley lunged for her wand arm, missed, and fell into Bruce, who threw him down in an admirable tackle and followed him down swinging his fists. Jordan leapt into the fray. Melissa drew her wand at the same time as the other Weasley; she took aim at Jordan, who was getting pounded into the ground. The other Weasley pointed his wand at Melissa, and Beth swept her wand toward him. 

Three voices cried out at once, over the grunts of battle nearby, and a shower of sparks rained on the three. There was a shriek and clouds of smoke billowed from someone's wand. 

"WHAT IS THIS?" a voice bellowed. Professor Kettleburn came plowing into the struggle. "_Dissoluso_," he snapped, with a wave of his wand-hand, and the fog cleared away. 

Jordan lay sprawled on the ground, covered in big blue spots from head to toe. Bruce and the Weasley scrambled away from him, fearful that the spots would turn out to be contagious. 

"Is everyone all right?" Kettleburn demanded. 

"_No_," said Jordan, who in addition to the blue spots had a nice black one forming over one eye. 

Melissa was clutching her throat. "Od gibber adden dilly," she complained. Her eyes grew wide. "Diggen an dun der mi motten? Dom filkie Weasleys grattum a figgle norman!" 

The Weasley that was still standing snorted, hand covering his mouth. 

"The lot of you!" Kettleburn cried in exasperation. "Anyone else? They're bloody _fools_ to put you folks in the same class!" 

"I got hit," the standing Weasley admitted, his hand still over his face. Between his fingers, a bright green could be glimpsed. Beth watched, fascinated, as the thin tendril of a vine crept under his hand and wove upward, sprouting leaves. He took his hand away. 

A bunch of creeping vines sprouted from his nostrils, getting longer and leafier by the moment. It framed his face in an oddly aesthetic contrast to his red hair. There was a stunned pause, and then a chorus of coughing as everyone tried to hide their laughter. "Byun, wiggen a cod a hiddy minesuf," Melissa snarled, looking pleased. 

Only Kettleburn did not look startled -- just irritated. "Anyone else? No? You three get to the infirmary, quick like. You three are coming to see Dumbledore." 

Beth snatched the feather from the ground. She exchanged a despairing glance with Bruce as they followed Kettleburn inside. That left two Slytherins and a Gryffindor; different odds than the three-on-three it had started out. Her stomach started to sink. She'd never been to Dumbledore's office in all her years. 

Her mind going over terrible outcomes of the situation, Beth nearly walked past the office after everyone had stopped. "Wait here." Kettleburn went inside, shaking his head. 

"I hope you lot get it for this," the Weasley hissed. "Always creeping around, always making fun of everybody else." 

"Talk about making fun of everyone else," Beth answered savagely, not keeping her voice down. "You've got a pretty good Snape impression yourselves." 

Kettleburn stepped back into the hallway and ushered them into the office. "Five seconds, and yer at it again," he said gruffly. Beth's heart started to beat fast within her chest. She felt no better when Kettleburn left and closed the door behind him. 

Dumbledore sat behind his desk, looking very stern. Beth felt her stomach clench. 

"Tell me why you did this." 

There was a moment of silence. Then Bruce started: "The Gryffindors were accusing us of making trouble, so we --" 

"Well, they were all ganging up on us --" the Weasley argued. 

"They were in a group, see, Jordan looked like he was going to kill Beth --" 

"Parson beat up my brother in the cafeteria!" 

Dumbledore raised one gnarled hand and the clamor slowly died down. "Is this true?" he asked Beth gravely. She nodded, her mouth dry. 

"Why?" 

Beth swallowed once. "Look what they sent me." She pulled the inscribed feather from her pocket and laid it on Dumbledore's desk. He lifted it up and peered at it keenly, as if his piercing eyes could perceive its past and future. He ran his finger over the white length several times. Then he fixed his gaze on the Weasley. Beth thought that she would hate to be the recipient of that bright stare, so she kept her head lowered. 

"Did you have this delivered to Miss Parson?" he asked quietly. 

"No sir." 

Dumbledore turned to Beth. "Your mother did not send this?" 

She stiffened. "No, sir, my mother is dead," she replied coldly. 

The Weasley looked at her in surprise. 

The Headmaster sat back in his high carved chair, fingering the feather lightly. "Then its origin must remain a secret," he said simply. "I must believe Mr. Weasley's statement." Bruce opened his mouth to protest, but must have thought better of it. "There is no proof against him, and it has been my experience that the Weasley twins are ordinarily all too eager to confess to their crimes. However," he continued gravely, leaning forward again, "fighting on school grounds is not to be tolerated. That will be ten points from your Houses, for each of you, and your cohorts in the infirmary as well. Understand that if such a thing ever happens again, I must take harsher action." He smiled suddenly. "Now go back to your studies. Or the infirmary -- I'm sure that Madame Pomfrey has quite mended your handiwork by now." 

Bruce and the Weasley nearly pushed each other over as they tried to exit at the same time, not looking each other in the face. Beth followed them. 

"Miss Parson." 

Beth turned back around, and her heart jumped nervously. "Yes, Headmaster?" 

Dumbledore handed her the feather. She reached out and took it, a little unwillingly. "I heard the delivery of this message this morning while I was brushing my teeth. It was an albatross. They tell me it terrified the owls, and it made me get toothpaste on my beard. Oh yes -- happy birthday." 

Too late, Beth thought, but she forced herself to smile. "Thank you." 

***

Beth caught up with Melissa and Bruce in the infirmary. The Gryffindors had already left, although a pile of green leaves and vines marked the cot where the stricken Weasley had been treated. They exited together, arguing over whether it was fair to take points from the houses of people who had been cursed. Beth and Melissa left Bruce in the common room and went up the staircase to the girls' dorms. 

In the privacy of their bedroom, Beth told Melissa what Dumbledore had said. She pulled out the feather as if presenting proof. 

"... And I believe him, that the Weasleys didn't send it," she admitted, running a blush. "I mean, Dumbledore knows what he's doing. Besides, I don't think they knew about my mother, you know. The one looked kind of surprised when I said it." 

Melissa sat on the edge of her bed and bounced up and down thoughtfully. "But if it wasn't the Weasleys, who _did_ send it?" 

Beth turned the feather over in her hands a few times before leaning over to shut it away in a dresser drawer. 

"I wish I knew." 


	17. Richard's Quest

**Chapter Seventeen: Richard's Quest**

"Under unfinished business, I'd like to congratulate the third-years on an expert mauling of the Gryffindors after Care of Magical Creatures, in particular Beth who punched a Weasley twin and followed it up with scrambled eggs. It may not help our reputation much, but it sure looked like fun." 

Beth hid her face as the SSA laughed at Richard's announcement. By this time, the meetings in the Vase Room were an ingrained part of her life, and she felt as welcome in the group as she ever had with anyone else. 

"Hufflepuff match on Saturday," Uther reported easily. "We'll ace 'em for sure." 

Jerome interrupted suddenly. He had started coming to the meetings now that the first-years could be counted on to not get homesick in the middle of the night. "That reminds me. I got a letter from Ace Arendt. He's graduating this year, wants to come back to England afterwards. He wanted to know if we could use the Ledger to find him a former member that's hiring folks who specialize in manipulating light." 

Riggs nodded brusquely and patted the Ledger that sat on its podium in front of him. "I'll get on it." 

"Great," Richard beamed. "How's your project coming, Dell?" 

"I'm getting closer," Daedalus replied, bright with excitement. "I'm just about failing Astronomy for it, but don't worry -- by the end of the year." 

Melissa cast a glance at Beth and rolled her eyes with a grin. They were both resigned to not knowing what exactly Daedalus was trying to do. 

From his post behind the Ledger, Riggs spoke up. "We still don't know what the cerberus is guarding." 

The SSA members shuffled around guiltily. 

"There's no good time to sneak around and it's been there for months, without us finding out about why it's there. We need to ask the Baron." 

Silence. 

"We could try again some night," Vivian offered meekly. 

"Or send a search party along with guards to keep folks out." Uther looked grim. 

Richard cleared his throat. "He's right though. It's been too long, and the danger's still unknown ... I'll do it." 

Vivian put a hand on his arm worriedly. "Really, Rich, you don't have to." 

"It's not worth it," Daedalus agreed, his face drawn. 

Bruce met Beth's eyes with a concerned look. She shrugged discreetly. 

"Yes, it is," Richard disagreed. "We'll get what we need quickly, and we don't have to face the cerberus _or_ whatever's behind it." 

Uther exchanged a concerned look with Vivian. "All right then, but take care of yourself, will you, old chap?" 

Richard grinned disarmingly, but Beth thought he looked a little peaked. "Don't worry, the living are always tougher than the dead." 

"But the living have more to lose," said Daedalus. 

***

Over the weekend, the school turned out to watch the Hufflepuff/Slytherin Quidditch match. As Uther had predicted, it ended up being a massacre in favor of the Slytherins -- not very suspenseful, perhaps, but it was always worth watching the Hufflepuffs take a beating. They usually tried so hard to succeed that it was funny when they failed. 

Even better, this victory thrust the Slytherins into first place for the Quidditch cup. "If the Gryffindors lose to the Ravenclaws," Aaron Pucey explained excitedly on the way to dinner, "and neither of them gets over two hundred and twenty points, we come out on top again." 

"They're about the same level," Bruce agreed thoughtfully. "Maybe they'll balance each other out. Make it a no-goals game." 

"Nah, the Ravenclaw Keeper's no good. Someone's bound to score." 

The Quidditch team, chattering about their favorite sport, went to one end of the table. Beth, feeling suddenly out of place in the company of all boys, joined the SSA at the other end. 

Richard came and sat down as they ate. He had large dark rings under each eye that seemed even worse against his unusually pale face. Beth couldn't remember ever seeing him look that drained. She opened her mouth to ask, but stern glances from the rest of the SSA kept her silent. 

"How's it going, Richard?" Vivian asked grimly, her voice a low undertone. 

"Fine ... two more days..." Richard murmured woozily. He reached for the bowl of oatmeal, missing the handle of the serving ladle several times before finally managing to scoop it into his plate. As he reached out, the sleeve of his robes fell back, revealing a series of thick, diagonal slashes on his arm. He pushed the sleeves back up and struggled to pour molasses on his breakfast, but not before Beth let out a quick gasp at the sight of the wounds. 

Melissa looked alarmed. "You can't go on like that!" she exclaimed. "Really, it's not worth -- oof!" She broke off suddenly and clutched her side. To her left, Daedalus wore an expression that was in parts exasperated and smug. 

"A whole week ... it must be something of enormous value," Vivian reasoned quietly. "I've never heard of the Baron wanting a week." 

"He'll be fine," said Uther heartily, except his ruddy face looked worried. "Only two more days, right, Rich?" 

There was no answer. Richard had fallen asleep in his oatmeal. 

***

The SSA was silent that Thursday, as they gathered in Vase Room one by one. Richard was noticeably absent. Vivian began the meeting. 

"All right, let's start then. Finals are coming up, good luck to everyone, do the house proud. Gloria serpens. Riggs and Uther have O.W.L.s in a few weeks, and Jerome said he'll be taking the N.E.W.T.s -- that's where he is now, out studying for them." 

"So he says," sniggered Uther. The Ordinary Wizarding Levels and Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Levels were serious, but Jerome was generally not. Besides, he spent a lot of his time these days with a sixth-year Ravenclaw named Aurora. 

"None of that," Vivian reprimanded. She continued in a businesslike tone. "We've got a good shot at the Quidditch cup, which means we'll probably take the House Cup again too. Now's the time to seal the victory. Answer questions, play teacher's-pet, do odd jobs without asking. That's the kind of thing that really --" 

She broke off. 

The door creaked open and Richard staggered into the Vase Room, his mouth twisted in pain. "I've got it, he's told me, I know what's in the corridor," he gasped. Looking alarmed, Uther and Daedalus stood and started towards him. "I've got it, you'll never believe..." He lurched further into the room. Then he gulped in a breath of air; his eyes rolled skyward; and he collapsed into Uther's arms. 

A few minutes later, once he had been laid on Vivian's divan and doused repeatedly with cold water, Richard opened his eyes muggily. "Guess ... guess what I found out..." he murmured, but Melissa held him down and poured water down his throat until he had regained some of his color. Then she made him lay there quietly until Vivian had retrieved a hunk of chocolate from their first-aid kit. It was only after he started to look alert that Melissa let him speak. 

"He's known all year what the cerberus is guarding," Richard said bitterly. "Dogs can't harm the dead, of course. Lousy ghost." Beth glanced over her shoulder, feeling like the Baron would be hovering there in stained robes. "We were right, it's very valuable -- and very rare. The only one of its kind, actually." 

"RICHARD, JUST GET TO THE POINT!" Vivian cried suddenly. Beth noticed that her teeth were tightly clenched. 

Richard drew a breath. "Somehow, someone has created a Sorcerer's Stone." 

The oldest SSA members gaped. Beth threw a glance at Melissa, who met her gaze with a worried shrug. Daedalus saw them. 

"It's been the goal of alchemists for centuries," he said quietly. "It can turn lead into gold." 

"And it can be used to make a potion that will keep you alive forever," Vivian added, sounding awed. 

"You could use some of that," said Melissa, frowning at Richard. 

Richard shook her comment off. "Now we need to find out why it's here at Hogwarts." 

Beth felt her mouth open and words come out of their own accord. "Because Gringott's isn't safe." 

The SSA turned to her in astonishment. "Not safe?" Vivian said disbelievingly. "It's the safest place in England." 

"No." Beth shook her head. "They were broken into over the summer. Someone walked through the walls. He almost ran me over trying to get out." 

"She's right," Riggs added suddenly. "It was in the Daily Prophet." 

"You and the Prophet," Richard said as if exasperated, but he was grinning. "What did they take?" 

"They didn't get anything," Beth supplied, almost astounded at her own recall. "A wizard who works there told me that the vault was empty." 

"Now _that's_ interesting," Vivian said, while Daedalus let out a low whistle. "Couldn't have been that .. no, impossible." 

Daedalus gave her a half-grin. "Never impossible. Could he have been after the Stone, and gotten there too late, after it was already at Hogwarts?" 

Richard nodded, lips pursed. "Maybe. We can't make that assumption, though. For now, all we know is that the Stone was moved to a safer place. Was it because of the break-in, or because of its value?" He closed his eyes thoughtfully. "A new challenge for the Society. Who would want the Stone?" 

Vivian laughed, and Daedalus let out a groan. "Come _on_, Rich," Vivian giggled. "_Everyone_ wants a Sorcerer's Stone." 

Richard smiled half-heartedly and opened his eyes. "That's what's going to make this a tough job." 

***

For several days after Richard's encounter with the Baron, the SSA busied itself with studying up on the Sorcerer's Stone. Beth immersed herself in a long, droning book about the many elements that had to be considered in the creation of one: Bruce found a leather-bound booklet about possible substitutes, including a potion to make things _look_ like they turned into gold and alternate recipes for immortality. They stayed up late that Saturday night, reading in the common room, and sharing marshmallows toasted over the fire. It was nearly three o'clock by the time they parted ways and headed back to their dormitories. 

When Beth came down to breakfast the next morning, there was a big crowd of people standing and sitting around the person of Draco Malfoy. Intrigued, Beth and the group joined them. 

"What's this?" she whispered to Vivian, who stood near the back. 

"Draco and some of the Gryffindor firsties got caught out last night after curfew," she murmured back. "Check the hourglasses." 

Beth threw a glance over her shoulder at the big hourglasses that kept track of house points. It looked like someone had taken huge handfuls out of the Gryffindors' glass; they had dropped one hundred and fifty points, to take last place. Beth let out a little whoop of excitement. 

"... _and_ they had the nerve to give me a detention along with the Gryffindors -- the ones who broke the rules in the first!" Draco fumed from the center of the little gathering. "I have to do detention at midnight. Midnight!" 

"McGonagall is never fair," Melissa agreed in a placating tone. 

"Maybe not, but she did good by us this time!" a seventh-year exclaimed. "A hundred fifty from her own house! I could kiss her!" 

"Don't, she'll turn back to a toad," someone else said. They roared with laughter. Glancing over her shoulder, Beth could see some of the other students regard their group nervously. 

"Who was it?" Blaise Zabini, one of the first-year girls, asked. 

Draco puffed out his chest. "The famous Harry Potter and his hero-worshipping friends, that's who. Breaking rules all year, they finally got their due!" 

"Famous Harry Potter," Vivian repeated. "Sounds like the Sorting Hat was right about him after all." 

Aaron Pucey elbowed into the group, grinning broadly. "Hey Viv, how many Gryffindors does it take to light up a wand?" 

"How many?" 

"Just one, but he has to do it illegally after curfew to make it seem worthwhile." 

More laughter. Beth joined in, but she found herself thinking that it would be nice, for once, to laugh with her friends without getting dirty looks from the rest of the student body. 

***

The incredible leap to first place buoyed the Slytherin's spirits for more than a week. Richard actually cancelled one of the SSA meeting to "give us a chance to celebrate as a whole house". The fact was enough to stop even the most consistent whiner. 

"Those stupid crystal balls give me headaches," Melissa griped after Divination, on the way to Transfiguration. 

"At least we've got the House Cup," Bruce said brightly, "if no one screws up too badly." 

"Good of the Gryffindor firsties to win it for us," added Melissa nastily. "Speak of the losers, here they come now. Good job, Potter, we owe you one!" she cried, reaching across the hall to tousle his hair. He ducked her hand and hurried past, dark head bent in a glower. 

"They never appreciate a compliment, those Gryffindors," Beth remarked, grinning after him. A couple of passing Ravenclaws glared at her. 

Their hateful gaze did not escape Bruce. "What would it be like," he began bitterly, "to be in one of the other three houses, and have a common enemy?" 

Beth fell silent, but Melissa only snorted. "And to be in classes full of unmotivated mudbloods who will never amount to anything? They're all just jealous that we build our own futures." 

"Easy on the 'mudblood'," Beth snapped. 

"Oh, I'm sorry. I meant, you know, the _others_." 

"Right." 

Melissa stopped in the middle of the hall and gave Beth a hug. "Really, I didn't mean it. You're one of us, you know. Come on, what did the Hat say when you got Sorted?" 

Beth forgave her and they started walking again. "It said three things. One, that I go after what I want. Two, that I get along best with people with drive." 

They turned into the classroom and threw their bookbags under their desks. "What was third?" asked Bruce, as sat in their traditional spots. 

Beth laughed. "It said, 'Well, it's certainly going to be interesting when you figure _that_ out.'" 

"Never trust anything that can read your mind," Melissa prophesied. "It told me I'd rather die than be humbled. How ridiculous is that?" 

"Insane," Beth agreed, tongue in cheek. 

"Can't fathom it," Bruce seconded sarcastically. 

Melissa flushed brightly. "Well, what was it for you, Bruce?" she asked sharply. 

Feeling the heat from the spotlight of conversation, Bruce ducked his head shyly. "Not a whole lot. Found out about the languages thing, said that I'd work 'til I died to reach my goals. Something like that." 

Aaron came into class and sat beside Bruce. "What, you're talking about the Sorting Hat?" he asked merrily. "Know what it said for me? 'You're mean and rotten, everybody hates you, and you're going to grow up to be a heartless Death Eater who tortures children, think I'll make you a Slytherin.'" 

Beth gaped, and then started to laugh as she realized that Aaron was joking. "Don't say it too loud, everybody else'll believe you," she warned. 

"'Oh yeah, and you're good at Quidditch and you'll never lose your house a hundred and fifty points, so you'd better not be in Gryffindor either'," Aaron added wickedly. 

Just then McGonagall entered, carrying a cage full of newts. She flicked her wand to the fireplace; it roared to life. "Take your seats," she ordered sternly. "Today we will be changing newts into salamanders -- consider it a dress rehearsal for your final exam, which will be held the Friday after next. And no extensions," she added, looking at Mervin who goggled at her in terror. "If you study up and practice diligently, I'm sure you will all make a fine showing." 

"I don't want to make a fine showing, I want to pass," muttered Bruce. 

"And pass you shall, Mr. Bletchley, if you stop talking to your friends in class," McGonagall said coldly. She was handing out newts and stood over Bruce like a tall, spindly bat. Somewhat cowed, Bruce took his newt humbly. 

The lesson dealt with changing a nonmagical creature into a magical one; it involved plenty of complex charms and spells. When each newt had been converted, McGonagall threw it into the fire, where it climbed about happily if the transfiguration was successful and burst into flame if it wasn't. Only about half the newts lived. 

"Well, you still have time," McGonagall sighed, as the bell to change classes rang. The Slytherins bolted from the classroom. 

"Wonder when Draco's doing his detention?" Beth said, as they headed to Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

"Tonight," said Melissa, looking pleased with herself for knowing. "They've got to go into the Forbidden Forest." 

Bruce stopped. "So -- they broke the rules, so they can go a place they're normally not allowed in?" 

They looked at each other. "Gryffindors," they said together, and went off to class. 


	18. The Bloody Baron

**Chapter Eighteen: The Bloody Baron**

At breakfast, Draco was telling his first-year friends -- and anyone else who would listen -- about his heroic exploits during the detention. "Longbottom nearly got himself killed, so Hagrid took him off my hands and put Potter and I together -- I was all for going in alone, but they wanted someone to watch out for the Gryffindors --" 

"Weren't you scared, Draco?" Pansy simpered, brushing a strand of hair out of her puggish face fetchingly. 

Draco puffed out his chest a bit. "It's a scary place," he said reassuringly, "but I reasoned that anyone killing unicorns wouldn't be interested in killing people. It was only dangerous for them, you see." 

Pansy and Blaise giggled at each other. "Clever," Blaise chirped sweetly. 

From halfway across the table, a much healthier-looking Richard perked up his ears. "Someone's killing unicorns?" he asked Riggs beside him. 

"Draco says there have been two or three killings," Riggs reported with bland efficiency, nose buried in the economics section of the _Daily Prophet_. 

Richard made a noise that indicated that he found that very interesting. 

Most of the Slytherins seemed enthralled with Draco's story, bursting into roars of laughter as he described how the Potter boy had fainted and needed to be saved by a centaur ("Vulgar creatures. They _want_ to live like beasts"), but Beth listened half-heartedly to Draco's description of a terrible figure with bloodstained cloaks until he mentioned the ungainly height. 

"What?" 

"Dreadfully proportioned," Draco repeated, with a delighted shudder. "As if -- well, almost as if his head were twice as long as it ought to be." 

Beth sat up, suddenly alert. She opened her mouth to speak, but caught a glimpse of Richard out of the corner of her eye and instead mustered a disinterested cough. Draco and his admirers didn't notice the light bulb go off over her head, which was just as well; some things were to be divulged only to the SSA. But wouldn't they be excited when they found out what she had only just realized -- 

_The killer of unicorns was the same creature who had broken into Gringott's._

It made such clear sense that Beth felt as if she'd been knocked over. That gangling figure, with the large head, was obvious from even a glimpse; she'd never seen anything with such an odd shape. And the things they were after ... once unicorn blood, once a Sorcerer's Stone. The two had such similar properties, she realized excitedly. Whatever tried to steal the Stone and killed unicorns wanted one thing: to _live_. 

This wasn't just someone with a hankering for a few more years of life. This creature -- criminal -- was desperate. It needed strength badly, if it was trying to get it from two very dangerous sources. It was as if ... winning life was worth the risk of death. 

The thought followed her through all of her classes. They spun by quickly, and she was hardly aware of taking notes; her mind worked over the problem time and time again. After they got out of Care of Magical Creatures, which was a boring lecture about how Chizpurfles can infest dirty cauldrons, Melissa starting berating her for not paying attention. 

"This late in the year! Finals are just around the corner! And it's never too late to start studying for the O.W.L.s. Two years, you know!" 

"You sound like that snobby Gryffindor, wotsername, Granger," Bruce grunted at Melissa. Granger was well-known for being a very bright and often irritating know-it-all. 

Melissa scowled. 

As they wound around the labyrinth of corridors, Beth made herself focus on other things. Melissa was excited about the upcoming Hogsmeade trip. "I could use the vacation -- and so could you," she said, nudging Beth a little. Beth smiled wanly. 

"Look out, he's coming through," Bruce murmured to them, and pulled up short. 

The Bloody Baron hovered past, eyes unfocused and grim in a drawn, dead face. The three drew back and let him pass. Beth watched him drift down the hall, stained cloak billowing, powdered wig high on his forehead... and then he floated through the corridor wall. 

Just as the ungainly figure at Gringott's had done. 

Beth's mouth fell open. "The _wall_!" she blurted. She whirled on Melissa and Bruce, eyes aflame. "Where's Richard?" 

Melissa stepped back. "In the common room," she answered uncertainly. "Are you all right --?" 

The question was left hanging as Beth bolted down the hall to the common room. 

***

"RICHARD!" 

Beth slammed her fist down on Richard's scroll. His inkwell went flying; little specks of ink splattered all over his robes and face. "What the --" he cried angrily, rising to his feet, but one glance at Beth's face caused him to draw back and shut his mouth. 

"Draco's told me about his detention," she snarled furiously. "There's something in the forest killing unicorns and drinking their blood. They told us in D.A.D.A that you can use it to keep you alive. But you know what they never told us? Unicorn blood is silver. Did you ever notice, Rich, that the Bloody Baron's robes don't have dark stains on them -- they're stained silver? Don't answer, I think you have noticed." 

Richard sat back down cautiously. "Well ... yes..." 

Beth made as if to strike the table again, and Richard flinched backward. "Knock it off with the secrecy!" she almost screamed. "If something's killing unicorns, there's a great danger on the Hogwarts grounds. I think it's the Baron. Now for heaven's sake, Richard, who -- what -- is the Bloody Baron?" 

To Beth's astonishment and fury, a look of relief washed over Richard's face. "Easy there," he said, almost with a laugh. "The Bloody Baron isn't killing unicorns." 

"But it all makes sense ... if he drinks the blood he can come back to life for long enough to steal the Sorcerer's Stone and make the Elixir of Life. I mean since he can't really touch things now he can't get the Stone..." 

"...Then how can he be killing things?" Richard said. 

Beth stopped short. "What?" 

"If he can't even lift the Stone now, how can he kill something like a unicorn? And if he did manage that, it wouldn't help, because ghosts can't drink." 

"How do you know?" 

Richard scanned the room to be sure no one else was around. He wiped his lips nervously. 

"Don't do this, Richard, or I'm going to pound first and then ask." 

Looking a little squeamish, Richard rolled up the sleeve of his robe. The thick cuts on his forearm had healed, but a few of them remained scabby and white. "I'm telling you, he can't drink," he said quietly. "But almost -- when he tries -- he can _taste_..." 

Beth gaped at Richard in horror. She felt her stomach plummet, as if she had been force-fed ice water. "You mean ... when the Baron wants payment, he really wants..." 

Richard nodded grimly. "Blood." 

"But if he can't -- I mean, what does he do with it?" 

"The Bloody Baron doesn't look human because he never was," Richard said, rolling his sleeve back down. "In life he was merely undead. He was a vampire." 

Shaken, Beth found herself glancing over her shoulder. 

"He found out about the properties of unicorn blood, and thought it would restore him to life. Instead, it poisoned his body and freed his ghost -- perpetuating his existence, but at enormous cost. He died almost immediately after killing the unicorn. That's why he's stained with its blood." 

"But he still wants ... to..." 

She couldn't say it. 

Richard shrugged, looking a little nauseated. "It's probably what he misses most about life. If he passes though a cup or so of blood, over and over, he can faintly pick up the taste. The Fat Friar will tell you as much about any other kind of food. I'm sure it's the same. He's furious with the living, he thinks he was murdered instead of the other way around. He really enjoys haggling the highest price he can." 

Beth narrowed her eyes. "Where did you hear all this?" 

"It's in the Ledger. Along with half the secrets of the castle, and clues to the other half." 

"All right," Beth said, taking a deep breath. "It wasn't the Baron then. But you know..." 

Richard raised his eyebrows. 

"...There's still a unicorn-killer, and we don't even have a guess on who it is." 

Astonishingly, Richard's eyes lit up, and a broad grin creased his face. "That's the spirit!" he cried. "There's always something more to find out. We'll bring it up at the meeting tomorrow. Until then, do research on who would benefit from unicorn's blood and come up with some theories. Get the other third-years to help. You'll be presenting at eleven thirty. See you then!" He gathered his scattered things and set off up the boy's corridor, still speckled with ink. 

"Oy, Beth, you look like you've seen a ghost," Uther said cheerfully from behind her. "Did you ever find Richard?" 

Beth jumped. She hadn't heard anyone come in. "Yeah ... yeah, thanks." 

"Clever. If you see Bruce, let him know we're practicing early, eh?" 

She nodded. "And if you see him first, tell him we just got another homework assignment, due tomorrow night." 


	19. Final Exams

**Chapter Nineteen: Final Exams**

Melissa had an Ancient Runes test, so she begged out of Richard's assignment. "But I'll help if I can," she said anxiously. 

"Just pass your test," Beth said with a sigh. "The three of us can do it." 

As it turned out, a long Potions lab prevented much more that a few quick chats and some shallow research. Beth didn't feel much more knowledgeable than she had been before. When they got up to present their findings that Thursday, it was little more than a review of what they already knew. 

Beth started in with what she'd seen and her original theory. "So you can see why I thought it was the Baron at first." 

Daedalus rubbed his left arm unconsciously. "But the Baron can't even drink." 

"Richard told us," Beth agreed. 

Bruce spoke up. "That's what made me think a little. Someone who needs this kind of thing can't really get it. You know? Like, if you're weak enough to need the Sorcerer's Stone, how are you going to break into a bank to get it? Or if you need unicorn blood that badly, how do you have enough strength to kill a unicorn?" 

Several members nodded. 

"So we can't really go with a physical description," Beth finished. "Because whoever is doing all this is doing it for _someone else_ who can't." 

"All right," said Richard thoughtfully. "Then who?" 

Bruce looked at his shoes. "That's where we're stuck." 

"We thought maybe a ghost, or someone who's dying," Beth said. "Maybe one of the students has a brother or something who needs to be cured." 

"Maybe," said Vivian, but Mervin interrupted. 

"No, no, that's not it," he snapped. "We talked about this too. That's a _good_ cause. If my mom was dying, I'd just ask for the Stone from whoever owns it." 

"Flaversham, or something," said Uther. 

"More like Flannel, I think," Bruce said. 

"Flamel, Nicholas Flamel," Jerome clarified. "I had to learn about him for the N.E.W.T.s. Mervin's right. Why break into a bank or kill something if it's a good cause? It's got to be something that no one would let them use unicorn blood for, if they knew about it." 

Vivian laughed. "All right then, we're Slytherins, right? Let's think of _bad_ causes." 

"Making money," said Melissa immediately. 

"Power, blackmail maybe," said Uther. 

"Maybe to bring back someone who ought to stay dead," suggested Daedalus. 

"To hurt Flannel." 

"_Flamel_." 

"Or to keep someone else from having it." 

"Wait, wait." Richard's eyes were wide. "How about this. I like what Daedalus said, to bring back someone that should stay dead. Add in the power thing. Who can you think of that's dead but not gone, and power-hungry to boot?" 

Melissa let out a little nervous giggle. "The Dark Lord." 

"Exactly." 

The Vase Room burst into cacophony. "I was _kidding_," cried Melissa. 

"Why would You-Know-Who be trying to come back now?" 

"You're off it this time, Rich." 

"Oh come on, wouldn't someone _know_ it if he was trying something? What about Dumbledore?" 

Richard waved his hands. "Think about it! He's got the need and he's got the followers to do it. No one should know better than us that there are still Death Eaters out there." Riggs grimaced. "Plus if he gets hold of something to bring him back, and it's at Hogwarts, he gets a shot at taking out the Potter kid at the same time." 

Bruce, apparently remembering the Quidditch match, got a look that said _he_ wouldn't mind taking out the Potter kid. 

"I guess it's possible, Rich," Vivian said slowly, "but if it is You-Know-Who, what are we supposed to do about it?" 

Richard bit his lower lip. "Don't know. Guard the corridor, maybe." 

Riggs looked pained. "But the O.W.L.s are in a week --" 

"Oh, buck up," boomed Uther, giving Riggs a pat on the back that nearly sent him flying. "You'll get more O.W.L.s than the people giving you the test." 

"We could take shifts," Daedalus suggested. "Keep an eye on it. No one would try to break in if we were standing around." 

"No, they'd kill us and _then_ break in," said Mervin sardonically. 

"Won't it be sort of suspicious, for us to be hanging around the forbidden corridor?" Melissa added in a reasonable voice. 

Richard looked irritable. "All right then, we don't have to guard the corridor. But keep listening around. Pass it as often as you can. Because if it's really the Dark Lord who wants to get the Stone, the stakes are higher than we ever thought." 

***

Finals week dropped on them like a tornado. 

Suddenly Beth found herself spending more time away from her dormitory than ever before. Classes merged into study groups. People started taking pillows to the library with them, and some of the older students went to work on mixing potions that would let you stay up all night, which they sold underground to desperate crammers. The third-years were beside themselves, with six tests looming in a scant four days. 

Beth and Melissa spent the afternoon in the Vase Room, struggling to transform a toad into a mouse. Their final result was green-furred and large-eyed. 

"I've had it!" Beth shrieked, as the creature croaked lazily, revealing a pair of buckteeth. "This is good enough to pass, isn't it?" 

Melissa shrugged. "If you say so. I'm going back to practice in the common room. Someone there can probably fix this thing up." The animal's slimy tail wiggled back and forth tauntingly. She started to pack up her books. "The Vase Room is always empty these days. Since O.W.L.s, N.E.W.T.s and finals are almost here, it's as if no one but the third-years want to study here." 

Beth shook her head. "Vivian said they're all in the library." 

"All right, then I'll be in the library. See you at dinner." 

"See you there." 

As soon as Melissa had left, Beth fell back on Vivian's divan in frustration. This was the worst time of the year. To top it all off, the idea that the Dark Lord might be lurking about was an unnerving one. The night before, Beth had laid awake expecting an angry, twisted head to poke through the curtains of her canopy bed and -- well, she never let herself think that far. She had trouble sleeping already. 

WHAM! The door to the Vase Room slammed shut and Beth's eyes flew open. She sat up with a start. 

Mervin came into the room lugging his cauldron, stuffed to the brim with books and bottles of ingredients. "Couldn't help me carry this, could you?" he gasped, arms quivering. 

Beth rushed to catch the heavy cauldron as it slid out of his arms. "Haven't you got that shrinking potion right yet?" she asked as she set it on Vivian's divan. 

"No," said Mervin, sounding discouraged. "I've killed off four capons and the other two disappeared completely. Hagrid's going to start wondering where his chickens are getting to." He started setting up his ingredients on the divan. 

Beth helped him. "Let me watch what you're doing, maybe I can tell what's wrong." 

Mervin scowled but didn't make her leave once he started mixing the potion. Beth had to try hard not to criticize the way he was stirring it, although she did comment on the inadequacy of pewter cauldrons. About halfway through she caught the error. 

"That must be it -- look, rat liver, not gnat liver." 

Martin took a closer look at his recipe. "Someone got a bug on it," he grumbled, brushing away a flattened fly to reveal the actual ingredients. 

"Actually I'm impressed. Must have been tricky to get a liver out of a gnat." 

"Well, I had to use an Engorgement Charm." 

By the time Mervin had succeeded in turning a half-grown chicken back into an egg, Beth was sick unto death of Potions. 

"I'm going to work on Arithmancy," she announced half-heartedly. Mervin grunted back, too caught up in his own studies to speak coherently. Beth collected her things and headed to the library, where she spent hours trying to remember names like Pythagoras, Euler and Euclid. When she thought her head would burst, she stumbled to bed, and then she woke up and did the same thing over again ... and again ... 

***

... and before she knew it, the actual test time had come. 

In a way, taking the final exams was more relaxing than studying for them. It was a wonderful feeling to have the burden of each class taken off one by one, until there was nothing more she could do about her grades and she was too tired to care. Arithmancy was a special beast: there were only three problems on the test, and each of them took two feet of parchment to finish. Nevertheless, she didn't feel battered by any of them, which was more than some students could say. 

The last exam was Potions with Professor Snape. It was run like an extremely long class, with all of the necessary ingredients stocked away so that you had to know what you were looking for. It was late in the evening before Beth stumbled back to the dormitories, dazed but triumphant. 

She flopped back onto her bed, not bothering to close the canopies. For once in her life, she thought that she never wanted to mix another potion. 

The sound of footsteps came crashing up the staircase. 


	20. The Ministry of Magic

**Chapter Twenty: The Ministry of Magic**

Melissa burst into the bedroom, flushed wildly. "Harry Potter and his friends are breaking into the forbidden corridor!" she blurted. "They actually body-bound the Longbottom kid. I think they're going to steal the Stone!" 

"How would you know?" Beth demanded. 

"I was in their common room when it happened," said Melissa, and went on quickly over Beth's astonished sputters. "Doesn't matter, we have to act fast -- you should have seen the look on their faces! Like they were going off to war!" 

"What were you doing in their common room?" Beth finally managed. 

"Come _on_!" Melissa grabbed Beth's arm and forcibly dragged her down the stairs and into the hallway until Beth snapped that she could walk fine on her own. Walking wasn't good enough for Melissa, though; she ran all the way to the library, with Beth in baffled tow. 

"There's Richard." Melissa pointed at a corner table where Richard sat buried in a paperback. She practically sprinted to his table, and with an anxious glance to see if anyone was close enough to hear, bent down and whispered in his ear. 

Richard's eyes grew wide. "Right now?" he murmured. 

Melissa nodded. 

Pursing his lips, Richard slowly closed the book and rose to his feet. "Follow me," he ordered in a very collected tone. They left the library in a huddle, Melissa practically hopping up and down, Richard at a measured pace. 

As soon as they were a few yards down the hallway, Richard grabbed his hair with both fists and sank against a wall. "_Gah_! Those stupid firsties have been out of control all year! I don't _believe_ them!" He took a breath and beat his head against the wall a few times, to clear his brain. "Okay. Riggs and Uther are taking their O.W.L.s. Vivian and Daedalus have a rising-senior class meeting, and Jerome's with the firsties that _don't_ go looking for painful death. That leaves us, Bruce and Mervin." 

"Bruce is with the Quidditch team," Beth reported dismally. 

"All right then. We're going to Dumbledore. Beth, go find Mervin and meet back in the Great Hall in a few minutes. If he takes care of it, all right, and if he needs help, we'll be there." 

Beth nodded dumbly. The two of them bolted down the corridor to Dumbledore's office. She turned and sprinted back to the common room. 

It was so late at night that the common room was nearly empty. Beth darted around frantically. 

"Looking for someone?" 

It was Evan Wilkes, the slim second-year boy with dark hair. "Mervin Fletcher. Seen him?" Beth asked in a rush. 

He put his hands in his pockets. "No. Want me to go check the dorms?" 

"Yeah. Go. Third-year," she added for clarity. Evan turned around and strolled up the stairs to the boys' chambers, while Beth pranced around in front of the fireplace biting her nails. He returned in a few minutes. 

"He's on the way." 

Mervin came down the stairs yawning, his hair a curly mess. "What'cha want?" he slurred sleepily, as he approached Beth. 

"Tell you soon. Thanks, Evan!" she cried, grabbing him just as Melissa had done and wrenching him out into the hall. When they were alone, she quickly summed up what was happening. They rushed through the halls of Hogwarts, skidding into the Great Hall just as Richard and Melissa came from the other side, panting. 

"He's out," Melissa reported. "At the Ministry." 

"McGonagall told us," Richard added hastily. "We couldn't trust her with the information, they're from her house, and she doesn't believe Slytherins no matter what." 

"So what now?" 

"I'm thinking!" Richard spat, and leaned against the wall for a few seconds. "Dumbledore has to know, _right now_. Those firsties could be dead in minutes." He bit his lip. "We're going to London then." 

"What?" 

"We can find Dumbledore at the Ministry. At least we have to try." He rubbed his temples hard. "Mel, go keep a watch on the corridor but _don't go in_ -- we don't need you dead too. Mervin, cover for us, say we're out walking or something. Beth, you're coming with me." 

"Why her?" Mervin complained. 

"Because you can't follow directions!" Richard almost screamed. "Go on, get started, and if you see the others, tell them what's happening. We might need to be out in full force!" He took off down the hall. Beth followed. 

They wound through the maze of corridors, ducking wayward students as they went. Richard screeched to a halt in front of a statue of an ugly one-eyed hag. "Good old Edna," he murmured. "No one coming? _Dissendium_." He tapped the hag's hump with his wand and a gaping passage opened up. He scrambled inside, urging Beth ahead. The hump closed up and they were encased in blackness. 

"Lumos." Both wands lit up with cool blue flame. "Where are we?" Beth asked. 

"Under the castle, come on, there's no time!" Richard started down the damp corridor, nearly tripping over the cobwebbed skeleton of a cat. 

"This goes to London?" said Beth, running to keep up. 

"We're hours from London," Richard hissed, keeping his voice low. "This goes to Hogsmeade, comes out in the candy store. From there we can take the Floo and be in London in seconds." 

"They'll never let us on the Floo, we haven't got any money with us!" 

"Good thing Honeydukes has one in their basement then." 

At the end of the hall was a rotting wooden door. Richard put his ear to it and listened for several seconds; then he opened it a crack and peered out for a few more moments. "Clear," he muttered, and they slipped through the narrow opening. 

The basement of Honeyduke's smelled, if anything, better than the store itself. Sacks of sugar and cocoa sat around the base of shelves stuffed with jars of ingredients. (Beth thought sickly of the cockroach cluster.) It was dim and warm, and above them they could hear a low buzz of customers. 

Richard ducked around a shelf and crept behind a propped-up baking board. There was a room behind the storeroom, not a large one, but cozy, with a round woven rug and a gentle fire going in the fireplace. They snuck up to the fire. Beth thought for sure that any minute, someone would come bursting through the door and denounce them as trespassers, which they were, or thieves, which they were about to be. Richard snagged a handful of Floo powder from a dish above the fire. "Keep your arms in and follow me. Dippet Street, London," he whispered clearly, and tossed in the powder in. He stepped into the fire. Beth had to stoop under the low mantlepiece to follow him. 

As before, entrances and exist zoomed past Beth's vision. Everything was green-tinted, and rushing toward her, fast, faster than she could think ... she lost sight of Richard ... everything was spinning around her ... 

WHAM! Beth's elbow bounced off a projecting corner and threw her to her knees. She felt a strong pull on one arm; she was jerked to her feet and hurled to one side. 

Everything slowed down considerably. Beth stood shakily and looked around. She was plainly in a city; the buildings rose high and close on every side, and people cluttered the sidewalks. On the other hand, it was like no city she had ever seen. The streets were paved in cobblestone, and instead of cars, wizards and witches zoomed through the town on broomsticks, hippogriffs, and the occasional dilapidated carpet. Richard hovered nearby, looking frantic. "I told you to keep your arms in! Falling down in the Floo -- you could be in Morocco by now!" 

"Well, it's not as if I use it all the time," she began crossly, but Richard was already edging down the sidewalk. Beth rolled her eyes and started walking toward him; Richard broke into a sprint. Beth followed. 

"To the right," Richard called, swinging into an alley. Beth followed him around the corner and through the dimly-lit alleyway. The alley came to a sudden end in a broad, bustling plaza covered with green grass and packed with people of all nationalities. The centerpiece of the open space seemed to be a stadium-sized building with columns the whole way around and a great stone staircase leading to a pair of elaborate doors. The sky was vast and dark above the courtyard. 

"This is in London?" Beth gasped. 

"Of course it's in London!" Richard barked. "Didn't I tell you we were going to London? That's the Ministry building, and I'll bet my wand that Dumbledore's in there right now -- wasting time!" He grabbed her wrist and started to worm through the crowd, pulling Beth after him. 

Beth craned her neck to see over the many tall hats of the people in the courtyard -- probably ministry workers, she guessed. They would never find Dumbledore in this crowd, not with this many people swarming in every direction at once and each looking as distinguished as the next. In fact, at the top of the stone staircase was a round man in pinstriped robes, talking with an old man that looked just like Dumbledore himself. Uncannily like him ... 

"Richard, it's him, he's on the stairs!" Beth blurted, tugging on Richard's arm. The other boy ground to a halt and looked up at the pair frantically, while bustling people swarmed around them. 

"That's him, and he's talking to Minister Fudge! We'll never get to see him!" Richard ran his hands through his hair and turned from side to side wildly. "There must be a way." He took a deep breath. "Beth, duck." 

"What?" 

"Now!" cried Richard. He flung his arm in the air and shot a beacon of green sparks into the sky. Beth crouched on the ground and put her hands over her head. Then to her horror, she head Richard bellow: "LONG LIVE LORD VOLDEMORT!" 

Someone screamed. Suddenly, the sounds of a thirty-gun salute filled the air as dozens of Stupefy spells rocketed through the plaza. Richard, caught in the full impact zone, lurched to one side and collapsed on the ground near Beth, stone-cold unconscious. 

Beth took her hands off her head, afraid to rise. All around her, people were starting to gather, and as they saw Richard's silent form, they began to exclaim to one another excitedly. In front of them, the crowds parted, and Minister Fudge loomed into view, followed by Dumbledore. The headmaster had such a look of intensity and alertness on his face that Beth shuddered as she scrambled to her feet. 

"What is the meaning of this?" huffed Fudge, but Beth interrupted: 

"Professor Dumbledore, he was trying to get your attention -- you have to get back to Hogwarts, right now --" 

At their feet, Richard let out a moan. 

"Cornelius, these are my students," Dumbledore said firmly, coming to the center of the circle that had surrounded around Richard. "I can handle this personally." He gripped Beth's shoulder and steered her away from the crowd. As soon as they were clear from the worst of the mob, Beth tried again. 

"Listen, Professor, the Stone -- the Sorcerer's Stone -- you have to go right away -- there's someone in the third-floor corridor -- we think they're trying to steal the Stone!" she finished in a rush. 

"Who is it?" demanded Dumbledore. 

"First years! One of them's Harry Potter, and then the little Weasley and that girl they're always with --" 

Dumbledore straightened, eyes ablaze. He spun to face Fudge, who was bent over and peering through his spectacles at Richard's still form. "Cornelius, I'm needed at the school. Take these two into your custody. I'll send someone after them shortly." While Beth watched in amazement, Dumbledore strode away from the thick of the crowd. 

Then, he vanished before her eyes. 


	21. Snape's Revelation

**Chapter Twenty-One: Snape's Disclosure**

Beth turned back to Richard and Minister Fudge. The Minister was doing his best to keep the crowd at bay, but they pressed in from every side around the fallen boy. 

"Stay back, stay back!" he shouted, waving his portly hands in a radius around them. He caught sight of Beth and stepped over Richard to grab her arm and pull her into the fracas. "We need to get you inside," he huffed. "Follow me." Then he bent down and lifted Richard from the ground. 

For a pasty dignitary, Minister Fudge was strong. He worked through the crowd, parting a way with his elbows and voice, until they could climb the marble steps of the Ministry and make their way inside the building. 

The inside of the Ministry was rich with columns and gold. High ceilings arched overhead, and red carpets strung the long, narrow halls. Minister Fudge bustled past the startled workers and closed rooms until he reached a hall lined with plain windowless doors. "Get that, would you," he grunted, jerking his head at one of the doors. Beth opened it for him and held it while he went in and laid Richard on the thin cot in one corner. 

The room was sparsely decorated, with no windows and little more than the cot, a table with two stools, and a mirror. "Wait here, I'll call your head of house," he coughed. "Who did you say that was?" 

"Professor Snape," said Beth. 

Minister Fudge's eyes narrowed. "Indeed. Well, don't leave until he gets here." He reached over and tapped Richard's forehead with his wand. "_Ennervate_. That may take a while to take effect," he warned. He coughed into the sleeve of his pinstriped cloak, backed out, and shut the door. 

The room was oppressively silent. Beth took a seat on a stool near Richard's cot and sat there looking between her hands and his lax features. After a few minutes, she nudged him gently. 

"Feeling okay, Rich?" 

The only answer was a shallow moan. 

She tried again. "It's all right. You're safe." 

He twisted a little in his cot. Beth left him alone and went back to watching her hands. 

Of all the dumb stunts, she thought. He might never wake up. Where would that leave us? And who even knew what was going on back at Hogwarts? Maybe the Stone was gone, or the firsties were dead ... maybe Dumbledore ... Had it been worthwhile at all? 

Richard groaned and opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling for a few moments; then his gaze flicked to Beth. "What do you know ... I'm still alive." 

Beth grinned shakily. "Gloria serpens, eh?" 

Richard managed a weak smile. "Gloria serpens." 

They sat and looked at each other. "I wonder if it worked," Beth said. 

"If your intent was to terrify a hundred wizards and start a dozen incorrect rumors about Hogwarts, then yes, it worked." 

Beth jumped at the voice. Professor Snape stood over them both, scowling in a way that made Beth feel like a Gryffindor. 

Richard sat up, slowly and with much grimacing. "I'm sorry, Professor. We had to contact the headmaster, and this was all I could think of." 

"Then I question your resourcefulness," Professor Snape spat. "The streets of London are simply abuzz with people claiming that a new wave of Death Eaters is planning to take over the Ministry. Moreover, they've found out that it was a Slytherin who frightened them all. How does it look, Shaw, for one of us to call on the name of the criminal who rose from our midst?" 

Richard remained silent, his lips pressed together thinly. 

"And Parson!" Snape turned on Beth. "I can hardly believe that you of all people would be involved in such an ill-inspired plot. After knowing how your family ended up, that you would even speak the name of the Dark Lord is beyond my comprehension!" 

Beth's jaw dropped. "How my _family_ ended up?" she sputtered. 

"Those who supported the Dark Lord in his reign have been punished, and the Parsons are no different," Snape ranted. "They and their former friends are in Azkaban for helping his ascension -- and _you_ two have inspired the same kind of fear that was defeated over ten years ago!" 

Beth ignored his admonition, hung up on his previous words. "My brothers are dead," she said, in a low clear voice. 

"I am sorry that is not the case," Snape said coldly. "Come, we're going back to Hogwarts, where Headmaster Dumbledore will have his chance at the pair of you. If you were not in my house, and such _normally_ intelligent students at that, I would encourage him to expel you _on the spot_!" With that, Snape stalked to the door and flung it open, waiting for them to leave with him. 

Richard stood stiffly, groaning a little. Beth rose from her stool numbly. She had never known her professors to lie, but -- could it be true that her family still lived? After all that time? 

Professor Snape marched them down the hall and into the lobby, still giving them a vicious diatribe. "Irresponsible! Possibly criminal! I was considering you for next year's prefect position, Shaw, but I can see that would have been a gross mistake!" Richard's jaw dropped, but no words came out. The professor stopped in front of a broad marble fireplace, dropped a pinch of Floo powder into the fire, and enunciated, "Dumbledore's office, Hogwarts." The fire bloomed green. Grasping each student by an upper arm, the professor strode into the fire. 

Snape's grip on Beth's arm never loosened on the trip back -- a good thing, Beth thought, since she felt doubly sick as they hurled though the network of fireplaces. Despite that, the churning of the Floo network was nothing like the tumbling going on in her mind. So the feather from her mother: real? Madame Rosmerta's comments: honest, deliberate? And all she had heard from her father, suddenly, terribly false? 

In a few moments, Snape strode out of the fireplace in Dumbledore's office, dragging a student in each hand. 

Dumbledore hunched over his desk, writing furiously with a fluffy white quill. 

"Here are the students who went on holiday to London," Snape announced acidly. Rich swallowed hard. 

Dumbledore waved one hand in the air distractedly. "Thank you, Severus, please send them back to their dormitories. I will deal with them later." 

Snape hissed a little and tightened his grip. "Headmaster, this sort of infraction should be dealt with promptly --" 

"I will deal with them in my own time," Dumbledore repeated firmly. "Thank you for fetching them." 

"Headmaster --" Snape tried again. 

"In my own time, Severus!" 

The potions master curled his lips. "As you wish." He let go of Beth and Rich's arms and stalked out of the office. 

Beth and Rich looked at each other. "Headmaster?" Rich spoke up hesitantly. 

Dumbledore put down his quill and peered up at them through half-moon shaped glasses. "Mr. Shaw, this incident has given me some very important business. Please go back to your common room." 

"Sir, how did it all turn out?" Richard blurted. 

Surprisingly, Dumbledore smiled. "The three students are alive, and the Sorcerer's Stone is safe. I'm sure you can hear the rest of the story from your peers. However," he continued, becoming serious, "there is a great deal of work to be done. Go now. And thank you." 

He bent over his desk again, and Beth and Richard slipped out the door. 

They went back to the common room slowly. Beth still felt dizzy from the Floo, and Richard was apparently still trying to shake off all those Stupefy spells. "What's the password du jour?" he asked groggily. 

"Er -- oh right, '_final exams stink_'." That password had been of Jerome Marx's creation. The hidden door slid open, and they climbed into the low, underground common room. 

Immediately, hordes of excited students descended on them. "Did you hear?" "Harry Potter! He's unconscious --" "And The Dark Lord, he was _here_!" "Something about flying keys -- a big dog --" 

Beth stared at Richard, unable to speak or hear over the throng. Someone tapped her shoulder. It was Melissa. They wormed through the clamoring, gossiping crowd and into a corner of the common room, where it was relatively quiet. 

Melissa looked like she was bursting to speak. "It worked, didn't it?" she hissed delightedly. "You got Dumbledore! And they're saying it was just in time, too. But no one knows it was you! Everyone's so excited about Potter --" 

Richard held up a weary hand and placed it over her mouth. "What happened?" he asked tiredly. 

Melissa scowled, but spoke more slowly when Richard took his hand away. "It was Harry Potter and his two cronies. They thought that Snape was going to steal the Stone --" 

"Snape, what would _he_ want it for?" Beth broke in angrily. 

"Well, that's what they thought," Melissa shrugged. "So they got into the corridor and got past the cerberus and went down the trapdoor, and there were all these booby traps and things -- Vivian was right that there were probably more guardians -- and in the last room, there was the Stone, but _guess_ who was there first." 

"Wasn't Snape, he was busy chewing us out," said Richard. 

"Well, who?" 

"Professor Quirrell!" 

Beth started. "Quirrell? What was he doing down there?" 

"Trying to steal the Stone!" Melissa read their astonished expressions with delight. "Wait, it gets better! He was going to use it to help the Dark Lord regain his power. Because You-Know-Who was inhabiting Quirrell's body!" 

"Inhabiting?" 

"What d'you mean?" 

"He was sharing a body with Quirrell." 

"How?" 

"He was living under the turban!" 

"You're _kidding_." 

"No! He was under it all year!" 

Richard ran his hands over his face. "So you're saying that Quirrell went around all year with the Dark Lord living _under his hat_?" 

Melissa nodded enthusiastically. "So anyway I guess Quirrell and You-Know-Who tried to attack Potter -- the other two got left behind, I think -- and the Dark Lord couldn't touch him! Again! Burned him or something! But listen --" Her voice grew serious. "Quirrell's dead!" 

Beth and Richard fell silent. "Dead?" Richard repeated. "Potter killed him?" 

"Yeah," said Melissa, eyes wide. "They're saying he didn't mean to. But after what You-Know-Who did to his parents and all, I think he did." She paused. "And Potter's in the infirmary now, he's unconscious." 

"Lucky him," said Richard. His eyes wandered to the staircase leading to the boys' dorms. "I -- I think I'll catch up on all this tomorrow. Sort of tired." He shuffled away, listing to one side. 

Melissa looked at Beth in surprise. "That's not like Richard at all. What happened?" 

Beth snorted. "He got himself hit by like a dozen Stupefy spells in London, and then Snape gave us a royal reaming-out. He'll be better tomorrow." She yawned suddenly, only then realizing how heavy her limbs suddenly seemed. "Me too. See you in the morning." 

Stumbling into the dormitories, Beth fell into bed without changing out of her clothes. As her head hit the pillow, she found herself thinking that Lord Voldemort was apparently not as dead as everyone thought. _Neither is my family_, she thought vaguely, but before she could get a good handle on that idea, she was fast asleep. 


	22. Dumbledore

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Dumbledore**

When the SSA gathered on Thursday night, the mood was less than excited. Richard slumped in a thick armchair despondently. "Well, I blew the chance to be a prefect. Wouldn't be so bad if somebody knew what we'd done, but all they keep going on about is Potter. The famous firstie that beat the Dark Lord again." He pounded the padded arm of the chair in frustration. "Snape's not telling anyone that we were out, so we don't lose any house points. Maybe it would be worth it for a little recognition." 

"I'm sorry we weren't there," Vivian spoke up with a sigh. "We could have gone in after them." 

"Or had enough people go to London so that we could have gotten Dumbledore's attention some other way." Daedalus added glumly. 

Uther stood up suddenly and strode across the room to slap Richard on the shoulder. "What's the matter with the lot of you?" he exclaimed heartily. "We're heroes of the hour! Saved the firsties' lives! The Stone's safe and the Dark Lord vanquished. And if there's a price, well, gloria serpens with it. Who wants to be prefect anyhow?" 

"He's right, old chap," Jerome spoke up hastily. "More trouble than it's worth." 

"Anyhow, we can't tell anybody about the SSA, remember?" Melissa said reasonably. "It's all got to be secret, you know that." 

Richard roused from his armchair. "All right, gloria serpens," he agreed half-heartedly. "But it would be nice if someone _knew_ we'd done some good." 

Behind them, the door creaked open and closed again. Mervin sat up in his seat as if electrified. "But we're all here," he blurted. 

Through the jungle of vases and furniture came Albus Dumbledore, stooping to avoid hitting his head on a tall arching vase. He stepped over a little spittoon and into the midst of the SSA. He took a seat on one of the little couches. 

No one said anything for quite a few minutes. Then Richard stammered, "Welcome to the Vase Room, sir." 

"Thank you." Dumbledore gazed around the room appreciatively. "This is quite an arrangement you have here. But to business. I'm sure you're wondering what I've come here for." 

The whole of the SSA nodded mutely. 

"I had to stop by and tell you that I appreciate what you did yesterday. One of the other students sent me an owl, but if I hadn't been notified at the Ministry I may have arrived too late. Your quick action saved at least one life. Possibly many more." 

Beth gave a tremulous grin. 

"The Sorcerer's Stone will no longer be in danger of being used to restore Lord Voldemort." Daedalus jumped a little at the sound of the forbidden name, but he was the only one. "I see that you may have guessed that he was involved. That is the second reason why I have come. Lord Voldemort has been vanquished now, but his attempt at recovery proves that he will struggle to return to power -- and to gain revenge on the person who undid him twice. The times may be coming when every force must be called upon to combat the threat of evil. I ask for the loyalty of the Society." 

Richard looked back at Riggs, whose lips were tightly pressed. He turned to Jerome, Daedalus and Vivian, Uther who stood behind him, and the third-years sitting cross-legged on the floor. 

"You can count on us, sir." 

Dumbledore smiles warmly. "I do not doubt that. Thank you again." 

Richard cleared his throat hesitantly. "I know we're in the lead, sir, but I wonder if a few points for our House might not be in order?" 

"Those who would act in secret must accept their rewards in secret," Dumbledore said, not unkindly. "People would ask where they came from, and that could only lead to exposure or lies." 

He smiled. "I have, however, ordered up a Special Award for Services to the School, to be displayed here in your, er, headquarters. A small token in exchange for the lives of a few students." 

Richard looked like he was trying to muster words of thanks, but couldn't. 

Slapping his knees, Dumbledore stood up from the little divan. "Well! I have other little visits to make tonight, but I wanted to stop by for a bit. Carry on. As you might say, gloria Hogwarts!" 

He started toward the door. 

"Wait!" cried Richard suddenly. "One more thing, sir. Please -- what did you mean at the beginning of the year? Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak?" 

Dumbledore turned around and smiled, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened. "My dear boy," he said, in a voice of great seriousness, "who am I to deprive the Society of a mystery?" 

Without another word, he strode out the door. 

The SSA looked around at each other, speechless. Then Uther started to laugh. 

"Recognition enough for you, Rich?" 

Rich smiled and rubbed the healed scars on his arm. "Yeah. Just about." 

***

The end-of-year feast was held that Tuesday. Once again, the girls' powder room was overtaken by primping, giggling girls. Beth escaped early and went down to the common room to wait for Melissa. 

Aaron Pucey was there, looking more dapper than usual. "Hey Beth, heard the word on the street?" he asked cheerily. 

"No, what?" 

"Harry Potter woke up this morning. Too little too late, eh?" He gave a little derisive laugh. "After Ravenclaw stomped 'em at the match on Saturday. Wonder if he's heard about that yet?" 

Aaron had been gloating about Slytherin winning the Quidditch Cup for three days. 

"Who was that kid they got to replace him?" Beth asked. "They had to have a Seeker, you know." 

"Some squidgy fellow named Melhorn." 

"Galen is not _squidgy_!" Melissa stalked up to them, eyes flashing angrily. "He did a fine job. He can't help that he never practiced with the team." 

"Or that he couldn't see the Snitch from five meters," Aaron snickered. "What, did you turn into some kind of Gryffindor-lover?" 

Melissa flushed a brilliant red. 

Beth gaped at her for a moment, then let out a howl of laughter. "_Melissa_! That reminds me! _What_ were you doing in the Gryffindor common room the other day?!?" 

If possible, Melissa blushed even deeper. "Hanging out with Galen," she admitted, in a shy voice. "We're sort of -- well, you know --" 

"And you never _told_ me!" Beth gasped through her laughter. 

Aaron, confused, wandered away. 

"Come on, we'll miss the feast," Melissa said crankily, grabbing Beth's arm. "I'll introduce you to him there. Don't laugh at him!" 

"I p-promise," Beth giggled. 

"And not a word about beating him at the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup!" 

Bruce meandered up. "Not a word to who?" 

Beth shrieked with laughter, and Melissa turned and stormed away. 

***

The Great Hall was decked in Slytherin green, and silver serpents decorated the walls. Beth noticed, with some bitter humor, that the other houses looked a little disappointed to be surrounded by the colors of Slytherin. 

"They can laugh at us all year," said Riggs viciously, "but it comes down to this." He clutched his magic pen in one hand. "They can't look down on us forever." 

Richard sat beside him, with a thoughtful look on his face. "I don't have a good feeling about this." 

"You worry too, much old chap!" Uther boomed, giving Richard a hearty slap on the back. "We've got the Quidditch cup and our closest challenger for the House Cup is now in last place. Slyth-Quid does it again!" He slapped hands with Warrington and the two went to sit at the other end of the table with Marcus. 

Melissa came up to where Beth and Bruce sat. She was hanging onto the arm of a short, muscular boy who looked dim but agreeable. "This is Galen Melhorn," she beamed, smiling up at him. "Galen, these are Beth and Bruce." 

"Galen, eh?" said Bruce, getting a little grin on his face. "I saw you at the Ravenclaw game. Good show there." 

Galen looked uncertain. "Thanks ..." He turned to Melissa and gave her a little peck on the cheek. "I'm going back to the table. Harry's not here yet, and we want to give him a cheer when he comes in." 

Melissa watched him go with a blush. "Isn't he cute?" she smiled, sitting beside Beth and Bruce. Beth reassured her that he was. Bruce just snorted. 

"'Harry's not here yet.' He wouldn't be coming to the feast at all if it wasn't for Beth." 

"And Rich," she added, throwing up a spectacular blush. 

Suddenly a hush fell on the Great Hall as Harry Potter came in. Then it burst into excited chattering. Potter, red-faced, rushed to Gryffindor table and sank down among some firsties. 

Dumbledore came in just a few minutes later. He strode up to his position at the head table and stood there beaming out at the Great Hall until the chatter died out. 

"Another year gone! And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were ... you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts ..." 

"Won't take me that long," muttered Aaron cheerfully. 

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two." 

There ensued great celebration from the Slytherin table -- clapping, whooping, goblet-banging noise. "Three in a row!" Melissa cried. "And four more on the way!" 

"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," Dumbledore went on. "However, recent events must be taken into account." 

The wild cheering faded away. "D'you think he means you going to London?" Bruce muttered to Beth. 

"He said ... he wasn't going to take away any points for that." A sick sort of fear started to creep up Beth's throat. 

"Ahem. I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes ... First -- to Mr. Ronald Weasley ... for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points." 

A stunned silence fell over the Slytherins as a deafening cheer burst from the Gryffindor table. At the prefects table, Percy Weasley leaned over and started blathering to Jerome, who looked at him in baffled irritation. Riggs bent over his napkin and re-read the words that his magic pen was taking down, just to be sure he had really heard them. 

"Second -- to Miss Hermione Granger ... for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points." 

The Gryffindors were going out of their minds with excitement. Beth could see the Weasleys catcalling madly. It was a repulsive sight. 

"Fifty!" Bruce sputtered. He had risen to his feet in outrage. Beth grabbed the back of his cloak and pulled him back down. 

"Third -- to Mr. Harry Potter ..." 

"No," moaned Richard, almost hiding his face in horror, "no, he's not going to ... he can't ..." 

"... for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points." 

Richard let out a long groan and buried his head in his hands. 

Riggs had grabbed his pen and was scribbling madly in the margin of his napkin. "That's fifty -- fifty, that's a hundred -- hundred and sixty -- plus three twelve -- Good Lord we're _tied_ with them!" 

"But that's all that went into the trapdoor," Melissa said desperately. "That's all he can give. Isn't it? Isn't it?" 

"Sure," Beth said shakily. "We'll just stay tied. He can't do any more." 

"Wait," breathed Bruce. 

Dumbledore had raised his hand for silence. Slowly the clamor faded. 

"There are all kinds of courage. It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends." 

"What's he talking about?" Beth hissed, but Melissa's face had assumed a look of horror. 

"_Longbottom_." 

At the front of the room, Dumbledore was smiling. "I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom." 

There was an astounded shriek from the Slytherin table, which was completely drowned out by the explosion of applause from the rest of the Great Hall. "Look -- look at the Ravenclaws --" Riggs gasped, completely mortified. They were cheering as if they had won the cup themselves. 

"And the Hufflepuffs," growled Bruce, on his feet again and glaring at the Hufflepuff table. 

"Which means we need a little change of decoration," Dumbledore called over the noise. 

"Not the decorations ..." moaned Richard, his voice muffled by his arms. 

Dumbledore clapped once; the silver Slytherin snakes all became gold lions and the green shifted to scarlet. The wildly celebrating Gryffindors didn't even seem to notice. 

Richard was banging his head against the table. "My first year as President ... total failure ... should have insisted ..." Beth patted his back reassuringly. 

The first-years, having had only the briefest taste of victory, were completely floored by the change of events. "Can they do that?" Draco Malfoy was asking over and over, in a sort of dazed horror. 

At the Head Table, Jerome Marx had also covered his head while the other prefects rejoiced around him. McGonagall had gotten up to shake Professor Snape's hand, and he was doing so with a very tense, fixed smile. Dumbledore merely sat back, looking pleased, and tapped on his plate until the end-of-year feast appeared. 


	23. The Ledger

**Chapter Twenty-Three: The Ledger**

They got their exam results a few days after the feast. Since it was such a warm day, the populous of the school hung around on the grounds, enjoying the sun. Bruce was relieved to discover that he had passed every class, even Transfiguration; Melissa was so furious that she had lost points in Divination that she went to see Professor Trelawney about it. 

"Clouded inner eye, my _butt_!" Melissa snarled, gripping her report card tightly. Bruce sniggered. "You'd think that predicting the death of Mrs. Norris and four students next year would go over well." 

Beth laughed. "Maybe that was taking it a little far." 

"Say, what's wrong with Marcus?" Bruce said, sounding worried. Marcus Flint and Vivian were walking across the grounds together; Marcus's face was a mask of fury. Bruce, Beth and Melissa strolled up to them, but on seeing Marcus's demeanor, passed a little to one side. They could just make out the conversation. 

"Oh, Marcus, you didn't!" Vivian cried in disappointment. 

Marcus punched a wall in passing; Vivian flinched. He pulled back a bloody fist without noticing. 

"Transfig and Runes," he grunted, with a bitterness that bordered on desperation. "I have to take 'em again." He punched another wall and left a bloody mark. "Two more years!" he snarled, through clenched teeth. 

Vivian gently steered him away from a group of chipper-looking first years. "Two more years of Quidditch," she reminded him. "You know a lot of fifth-years, so you won't be left alone. It's going to be all right. Just don't let it happen again, and they'll let you graduate." 

"Maybe," Marcus grunted, but his voice held a note of hope. 

Across the courtyard, the fifth-year Slytherins stood around comparing the scores they got on the O.W.L.s. 

"Eleven," cheered Uther. "Not bad for a Quid-head, eh?" 

Several people that Beth didn't recognize groaned and covered their reports. She assumed that they had done worse and wouldn't admit it. 

"For a Quid-head, it's all right," Riggs sniffed. "How's this look, eh?" He held out his parchment to Uther, who let out a whistle. Beth peered over his shoulder. 

"I thought the O.W.L.s stopped at sixteen," she commented. 

"Not if you're brilliant like Riggs," Uther bragged. "Going for the Head Boy position, will you?" 

Riggs took his parchment back and folded it fussily. He pushed up his glasses with one long finger. "Perhaps." 

Richard came up and clapped Riggs on the back. "A Slytherin Head Boy, nothing could be better!" he exclaimed. "Just keep in line for another year. We'll do all we can to help!" 

Riggs nodded his thanks. 

"How'd grades treat you, Rich?" Beth asked. They strolled away from the group. 

Richard heaved a sigh. "All right, except for Care of Magical Creatures. Apparently I totally missed killing a Bundimun in my final, and it ate through half the paddock fence. Kettleburn let me pass, though. He's not a bad sort. How about you, Beth?" he asked cheerily. "Pass everything?" 

"Yeah," she shrugged. "Everything except Potions." 

Richard's jaw dropped. Beth started to laugh. "Kidding," she admitted. "I only missed like ten points in that class. As mad as Snape was, he couldn't fail me after that." 

Grinning, Richard rolled his eyes. "Well, he may not have failed you, but don't count on ever being a prefect either. I went in to see him and he pretty much told me that neither of us will be getting the job. Over his mangled, steaming corpse, I believe are the words he used." He gave a little disappointed shrug. "More time to spend on the Society then, what do you say?" 

"Gloria serpens, of course," said Beth. 

***

That evening the SSA gathered for the last official meeting of the year. 

"What else is there to talk about?" Melissa complained as they filed into the Vase Room in the dead of night. "The whole corridor thing is cleared up. We all know how everything turned out. Even Dumbledore made an appearance. As far as I'm concerned, everything's finished." 

"Not so," said Richard, taking his spot at the front of the room. He clasped his hands and beamed around at the assembled students. "Well, we've lost the House cup, but we've had a great year," he began. "If you didn't notice, our Award for Special Services is over on the counter." 

A big silver trophy stood gleaming on one shelf, totally overwhelming the colored bottles around it. The names of all ten of them were engraved on its surface, as well as the year. 

"Now it's time to get ready for next year," Richard continued. "We need rings and notes to be enchanted. Daedalus, can you charm the rings again? Uther's already made them." 

"Sure," he agreed. "Now that my project is out of the way." 

"Oh, you got it!" Vivian squealed excitedly. "Show us, will you, Dell?" 

Daedalus shuffled his feet a little. "All right." He gripped his wand in one hand and closed his eyes. As they watched, he grew smaller and smaller, shrinking in on himself, until his entire form vanished and a three-foot-long green snake dropped to the floor. 

The SSA applauded enthusiastically. The snake that was Daedalus slithered around a little, showing off shiny green scales and a long brown streak down its back. Then there was a flash, and Daedalus reappeared, gripping his wand and smiling broadly. Vivian gave him a big hug. 

Uther grabbed Daedalus's hand and shook it enthusiastically. "Going to get registered, are you, old boy?" 

Daedalus shrugged, still beaming. "Not sure yet. Might be handy to keep it quiet. Besides, I hear the forms you have to fill out are beastly." 

"Salazar Slytherin would be proud," said Riggs. 

"Right," Richard grinned. "We need to get your new talent into the Ledger. Meanwhile -- Riggs, can you enchant the notes over the summer?" 

Riggs nodded curtly. 

"Excellent. Finally, we have to say goodbye to Jerome. He's been with us these five years, and the SSA won't be the same without him. But remember, graduation is not the end. He's joining dozens of alumni in bringing glory to Slytherin by building himself a great future. Keep in touch, Jerome." 

The members cheered. Jerome, for once, looked bashful. 

Bruce gave Uther a nudge. "Say, who's going to be inducted next year, anyway? In Jerome's place?" 

"Evan Wilkes and Rudy Rudisille," Uther replied. "They're a couple of good eggs. We've kept tabs on them for two years. They don't know it yet, though, so keep mum." 

"How come _we_ didn't know about it?" Melissa demanded indignantly. "We could have helped." 

Uther ruffled her hair, which only made her madder. "Club policy, only fourth year and up gets to pick the newbies. Don't worry, next year's your chance." 

"Good," said Melissa, smoothing her hair. "I already know who my vote's for: Draco Malfoy." 

Richard raised his hands for silence. "That's all we need. As always, keep your ears and eyes open over the summer. There are mysteries out there, chaps. Conundrums and riddles and hidden meanings. There are secrets. Let's solve them!" 

One by one, the members of the SSA filed out of the Vase Room and into the dark hallway. Beth cast a glance at the Ledger, alone and majestic on its podium. She tapped Richard on the shoulder. 

"I -- think I'll stay behind for a minute. Just a little while." 

"Sure," said Richard, with a smile. "Just blow out the lights before you go, eh?" 

He went through the door, and Beth was left alone. 

Heart pounding, Beth walked over to the thick, dusty tome. She knew what she wanted. Hadn't one of her brothers been a Slytherin? And in fact -- hadn't Riggs said that she was the second Parson to be listed? It would be a partial answer, but it was better than nothing ... and wouldn't it be worth it, to find out at least some of the truth? If her family was alive, then Beth had been lied to her entire life. She wanted to know. 

She cleared her throat. 

"Lycaeon Parson." 

The old ledger gave a wheeze and dust spurted from either side. The pages began to flip backwards as if blown by a wind. Kicking up another cloud of dust, the thin paper settled open. The book coughed apologetically and lay still. 

Beth stared at the open book. She didn't want to see. Then what did I say it for? she chided herself, so she swallowed the lump in her throat and moved up to the ledger. 

She leaned over the book, heart thumping At the top of that page was a listing for Melissa's uncle Ollivander, which stated his age, skills, and current occupation, followed by a lot of little facts like "Prefers blue toothbrushes" and "Wand: Willow with unicorn mane, nine inches." Below that, more names lined the pages, some of them shifting as entries were magically updated. Beth ran her hands down the list nervously. Near the middle of the right-hand page, and right below her own entry, Beth's finger stopped. 

    Lycaeon Parson   
    Age: 28   
    Skills: Care of Magical Creatures, Quidditch Chaser, plays the guitar   
    Current Location: Death Eater wing, Azkaban 

Beth let out her breath in a long, shaky wind. Snape had spoken the truth. Azkaban, the wizard prison ... 

And a Death Eater. He had been allied with Lord Voldemort. That meant he was surely a murderer as well. 

Who did he kill? Beth thought wildly. And what else had he done to earn a place in the black, cheerless walls of Azkaban? What did he look like, after all those years surrounded by dementors and criminals? Surely he wasn't the grinning Quidditch player that waved at her from the old photo. Not now. 

It had always been a strange feeling, knowing that she had a brother who no longer existed. Stranger was the thought that her brother actually did exist, somewhere unreachable but still closer than ever. 

She scoured the entry for more information, but the brusque description didn't help much. She closed the Ledger with shaking fingers. There was little more to do, then; the information she wanted was not stored in books, but in the minds of people she knew. She went around the room and blew out the candles; then she left. 

Beth cast one last look back before the hidden door slid shut. It would be three months before she saw the Vase Room again, three months without her closest friends, three months almost entirely without magic. 

She heaved a sigh. At least that was three months for her to work up the courage to ask her father about the rest of her family. 


	24. Homeward Bound

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Homeward Bound**

It was the fourth and last time Beth and her friends would ride on the Hogwarts express that year. Melissa was nostalgic. 

"Three down, four to go," she sighed, as the scarlet steam engine pulled up to the Hogsmeade station and anxious students started to clamber aboard with their luggage. "We'll never have this year back." 

"No, we get four more just like it," Bruce grunted, picking up his trunk and heaving it into a compartment. "When's the food cart going to get here? I'm starved." 

"You're _always_ starved," Beth teased, lugging her own steamer trunk. "Will winning the Quidditch cup take that much out of you next year?" 

"I hope," said Bruce fervently, and both of the girls laughed. 

Mervin came and joined them, stumbling over his own parcels. Bruce gave him a hand in loading them above the compartment. "Thanks," he gasped, and slumped into the seat. "No matter what my mother says, I am NOT taking more than four collapsible cauldrons to school next year." 

The train pulled out, its long mournful whistle sounding over the clackety-clack of the wheels. 

"Going to be interesting, next year," Beth mused. "We'll need a new teacher for D.A.D.A. I can't believe they didn't even have a funeral for Quirrell." 

Mervin lowered his voice and leaned forward. "They say there wasn't enough left of him to bury." 

Melissa shuddered. "After Grimlet keeled over our first year, then Quirrell -- who'd be fool enough to take the job?" 

"Maybe that's good," said Bruce hopefully. "Maybe they'll get some twit to teach it, and we'll all get top marks." 

They spent the trip back talking about all that had happened over the year, and how much of it they were going to tell their parents. The consensus was to keep most of it a secret. Since Riggs had mentioned previous Ollivanders and Fletchers in the alumni annals, Melissa and Mervin promised to see as many relatives as they could, to find out which ones they were. "After all," said Melissa reasonably, "what's the point of a society so secret that even the members don't know who's in it?" 

They pulled into the station that afternoon, antsy from sitting still and ready to start their summer vacations. The parents and guardians of the students from wizarding families were lined up waiting at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Mervin, lugging his many parcels, was picked up by his Great-Uncle Mundungus, and they swept away on an ancient carpet. Melissa's parents, both slender aristocrats, had arrived on broomstick. With a tap of the wand, they made her luggage vanish (presumably to arrive at home) while Melissa said goodbye to her friends. 

"I'll write you, I promise," she told Beth, with a hug. "We're going to Italy this year. Some of the old Italian wizards really lived grandly. Have a good summer!" She climbed onto her mother's broomstick and the three of them soared away. 

Bruce gave Beth a handshake as he saw his parents and little sister hustling toward them. "Have a good summer, Beth." 

"Going to send me an owl or two this time?" she teased. 

Bruce looked guilty. "Probably not." 

She patted his arm. "Good boy." 

His parents stopped to chat for a few minutes before hurrying Bruce away, clamoring about how crowded the Floo network was going to be. 

Muggle parents didn't know how to get to the Hogwarts platform, so it was up to Beth and the others to get back though the invisible partition to the Muggle half of King's Cross Station. _Amazing_, Beth thought, as she materialized into a world of suits and dresses and briefcases. _They don't even notice when fifty kids suddenly appear, one by one, through the wall_. 

"Bethy!" 

Across the platform stood Mr. Parson, leaning on a cane and beaming at his daughter. Beth dropped her trunk and ran up to give him a big hug. "How are you?" they asked simultaneously; then Mr. Parson smiled and said, "I got a cab to take us back. I hope you're up for another long ride." 

"I wouldn't mind," said Beth, grinning, and she really didn't. 

***

The taxi cab was the kind with a plastic window between the driver and the back seat. It made Beth feel like she was in a fishbowl. The taxi driver, an impatient-looking fellow, crammed Beth's luggage into the trunk and they whisked away, out of London and across the countryside to Dorset. 

"Well!" Mr. Parson said, as the landscape flew by around them. "How's my girl been since Christmas? How were your grades?" 

From her satchel, Beth handed over her parchment with class marks. Mr. Parson looked them over and handed them back, beaming. "That's my girl. Your mother would be so proud." 

Beth's heart leapt to her throat. Swallowing all her courage, she stammered, "Don't you mean, she _will_ be proud?" 

Mr. Parson turned to her with an unreadable expression. 

"When you tell her, I mean?" 

"Bethy, your mother --" Mr. Parson started carefully. 

"Dad, I know she's in Azkaban." 

Mr. Parson's lips became thin. His eyes looked both lost and wary. 

"And Chris and Lycaeon too. I found out about it this year." 

Her father's face worked in a funny way. "How?" 

Beth gave a little snorting laugh. "For one, she sent me a letter." She pulled out the large, white feather that she'd gotten on her birthday and handed it to her father, who accepted it with shaking hands. "I saw you sending a letter the night after Christmas, and I couldn't figure out why, but then Professor Snape mentioned that they were all in prison, so I -- thought it might be them." She stopped suddenly, and looked down at her hands. She wanted to apologize. Was he going to be upset? 

She felt her father's wrinkled hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Bethy," Mr. Parson said, in a quiet but steady voice. "I should have told you. But I didn't want you growing up thinking that you were any less because of the mistakes that they made." 

"It's true then." 

Mr. Parson nodded sadly. "I still send them letters, mostly about how you're doing. It's illegal to contact the prisoners." 

"So how do you --" 

"I send the messages by bat." 

Beth stared. "_Bat_? So _that_ was -- I thought it was a little bird!" 

Mr. Parson shook his head. "A bird could never get through the security. They can't write back, but I think it helps them a little. I get a report on how they're doing every July." 

Beth gave a little jump. "The eagle owl, this summer! You said that was junk mail!" 

"Yes, I did." 

London began to recede into farmland. "I want to write to them," Beth said, looking out the window at the summer fullness. 

"I'll introduce you to Mercator, as soon as we get home," Mr. Parson promised. 

"Mercator?" 

"Our bat. He lives in the hall closet. I'm surprised you haven't seen him yet, he's a feisty little fellow at night." 

"I can't wait," said Beth. 

And they smiled at each other as the taxi cab took them home. 

Finis

[_Author's Note_] Thanks for reading! The sequel to this novel, The Serpent's Society and the Quest for the Heir, is mostly posted on fanfiction.net; it shadows Chamber of Secrets. (And I swear it's better than this one, my beta reader says so.) Any reviews of this novel, especially negative ones, would be greatly appreciated. 


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